


In not-so distant times

by avaloncat555



Series: Life and Death of Tsarevich Ivan [2]
Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work, Slavic Mythology & Folklore, Иван-царевич и серый волк | Ivan Tsarevich and the Fire Bird and the Gray Wolf
Genre: Ableist Language, Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Biphobia, Bisexual Character, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Forests, Homophobia, Kindness, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Power of Words, Quests, Reincarnation, Restaurants, Revisionist Fairy Tale, Russian Mythology, fairy tale kingdom has underwent industrialisation, it's still got magic and woods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 70,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avaloncat555/pseuds/avaloncat555
Summary: Ivan is his father's third son. Forced in family business he doesn't understand or love, he is constantly looked down on by both his father and his two older siblings. After a disastrous gala, their father sends them on a Quest to bring three magical items:scale of a dragon, golden apple and hair of a Forest witch.The Quest is seemingly insane, but it will determine who shall inherit their father's company and estates. Ivan departs in order to prove himself, even if it means braving dangerous Forests that contain untold monsters and dangerous magics. In order to support his expeditions, he becomes a cook in restaurant at edge of Forest.Yet he may find himself contending with more than he bargained with,especially as he would rather avoid violence and fighting as much as possible. From strange magic stalking his steps and guiding him down path of old tale, over budding friendship (or more) with his coworkers-intelligent and sarcastic accountant Anya and brooding, charming security guard Grey- to unscrupulous Anton, owner of rival restaurant, Ivan carves a new life for himself under guidance of restaurant's mistress, the mysterious and ancient witch manipulating the Story to happily ever after.





	1. The Initial Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distant and rather ordinary city finds itself saddled with most peculiar building, as it's inhabitant's prepare for beginning of fairy tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So finally started writing sequel (of sorts) to Tales never end.  
> This world is like Earth, but with magic. Basically fairy tale land that underwent industrialisation. Quick note: in this world year is 3031, but it would equal ours 1967. magic however pushed technology to levels of 2017s. Just fun thing from my wider worldbuilding. Another important thing to remember is that magic and belief cause tales to repeat, and that world is covered by Forests, strange liminal places that contain old magic and folklore creatures.  
> This short chapter is just a prologue.  
> Read, hopefully enjoy and please review!

It was quiet, calm summer night at the  brink of narrow, quiet street . The street was at  the edge of  small city at border of country, which meant it was big enough as such cities went. And what it lacked in size it compensated in respectability.

It’s citizens didn’t stay awake after three in morning  nor sleep after six . They didn’t raise ruckus or waste thoughts on thinking ( especially on things other than ‘’now’’   and ‘’this moment’’ or sometimes even  ‘’in fifteen minutes’’).  They got up, consumed necessary fuel and went to jobs they neither loved or hated.

If they were poor they worked for hours on hard, risky jobs. If they were rich and fair they also worked  for hours on extremely tiring jobs. And if they were rich but unfair they didn’t work at all. When their shift ended, they got up and went home, where they had dinner and went to sleep.  It was a respectable machine whose clogs all worked perfectly. As such, it makes sense nobody  gave thought to the new building that wasn’t there three hours ago.

They didn’t notice how the building was too big for the street, and shouldn’t be able to stand there. They weren’t curious why the building was so well maintained when all houses around it crumbled. Why somebody would bother with making such a grand, rich building next to the city walls, among ruined and fallen houses once inhabited by the poorest of the poor.  That it appeared to be meant for living, yet there were no doors  that led to apartments, for the whole first floor was one restaurant.  To their minds, it was always there.

( They didn’t ask why the iron fence was shaped like fangs, why lamps  burned with green light and seemed to resemble skulls. Why plants and rats and bugs kept away from it. Why at corners shadows seemed to take form of giant chicken feet.)

It never disrupted their ordinary lives, and for months they paid it no attention. And then they started buying food there.

* * *

 

‘’ What are we even doing here?’’

Vasilisa  didn’t answer him, nor  give any sign she acknowledged his existence.  Her eyes were bound to her work , inspecting every thread, every knot.  Without taking eyes off her loom, she reached for  the hearth. Flame coiled and bent,  wrapping itself around unharmed hand with quiet hissing and the occasional crack.  Her slender fingers studied long, thin fiery scarf before they took  out two bundles of a shining threads. Pale, golden ones she threw to a doll knitting besides her, while  she took  furious  red- orange ones.

Click of needles. Hiss of flames. Silence of loom. Tap of fingers. Then, exhausted sigh.

‘’ How long till you answer me?’’ If he was still wolf he would growl. Vasilisa set aside her wok and turned towards Grey, while  the doll knitted slower ( but louder) and  mumbled something about  ‘’ obstinate new generations’’.

‘’ We are here because the tale is just about to start. I thought you aware of that, as you were delivered  the same notification as myself.’’

‘’ Notification that said we are twenty years early, in opposite part of country.’’

‘’ When people give you dates, they don’t expect you to arrive at exact second. You can get there one or two minute earlier.’’

‘’ Yes, but’’ he smiled, baring his white teeth and glared in such way that his eyelids were barely open ‘’ decade and minute isn’t same.’’ Vasilisa raised eyebrow and  and moved  tip  of  her lips little higher. ‘ _’To  toddlers, maybe_.’’ she thought.

‘’ In three days, your princess will be born. Three days after that, so will your prince. And three days after, object of quest will be crafted. If we wish to see this tale brought to desirable end, we must prepare. Only foolish authors   start  working on book two months before publication. True literature is worked upon for years. Years to scheme, to try, to exhaust all possibilities . Leave no hole in fate, so that world has no choice but to follow plot we wrote.’’

‘’ But why have we set up this ridiculous charade?’’

‘’  Good author takes care of all aspects of  work.  Characters, plot, prose.... and setting.  We cannot pay attention only to fabula and syuzhet, we must take care of setting. Establish where, when, how and why. That is our  job, while plot is  babushka’s. To do otherwise would result in schund, and we don’t want that. Do you have more questions?’’ The doll immediately hit herself on it’s forehead when he opened mouth, and whispered ‘’ Do you understand rhetorical questions?’’

‘’ Yes. To both. Why do you speak of everything as if it is book?’’ Doll clicked her tongue and took ball of dirty reddish yarn from bag on her back, which contained only yarn of that color, and smelled awfully of salt and iron. She had entire dresses made of that material.

Vasilisa chuckled, low, silver  sound of broken church bells.

‘’ Life is a tale, little princeling. Fate is but the plot of book you know as the world. Your people are characters, and deities are writers. All of them, whether because they are bored, wish to use their gift to create beauty or send messages to others through their literature. ‘’ She got up, and her loom disappeared, fading like a drawing wiped by eraser. She went to door, and the doll jumped down to floor to follow her.

‘’ And what are you and her?’’  Vasilisa  didn’t turn, didn’t speak any louder yet he heard her.

‘’ I’m but a simple figure of speech. And babushka is  only herself.’’ With that said, she went out.

‘’ You know, such bad manners are inexcusable for a young man such as yourself.  That is why you are security, not person of authority. You cannot attain any good relationships with such  attitude.’’ Doll got up, setting aside her threads and garment she was making, and started walking towards doors with small, slow steps.

He looked at her, old and dried out wood, dusty and torn cloth,  chipped and peeling paint, muttering and waddling like entitled, grumpy old woman who thought none would harm her because she was their senior, and prepared to kick her.

But when his leg was millimeters away from her back, she turned as swiftly as blade of grass on wind, and caught him. She didn’t pull or shake him, but just nudged right way so that energy of his kick flowed forward. Having no target to impact, it continued and pulled him with it.

He was lying vertically in air, and she was still holding him, her feet planted firmly on ground.  She turned and turned, making  full circle several times, and he followed in  way wolf follows pack leader.  She sent him upward, turned him in the air and then she threw him. He landed on opposite wall with small thud.

It wasn’t painful, not much. The problem was when she ran at him with surprising speed, knitting needle held like rapier. He closed his eyes, put his hands forward, chanted spell that erected shield in front of him. She came, and shield  tore like it was paper, and he could feel needle near, descending towards him at that speed, ready to make the  fatal...

Prick to his cheek. He opened eyes  and saw blood flowing from wound, floating through air, resting on needle and drying into thread. The doll sniffed and went outside, with needles on her back crossed and thread tied around her head. Bitter scent of  salt and iron entered his nose, and he started to wipe his cheek when he noticed something. Thread tied around her head was exactly same color as dirty yarn in her bag.

* * *

 

On other side of country, newborn girl was sleeping after particularly hard birth.  Doctors said that they thought she would surely die, that there was nothing that could save her. Even main doctor, atheist his whole life, joked about making a small donation to a church before he discarded the idea (he never had a great sense of humor) . 

It was third night of her life, and thought she knew it not, at that moment a small boy has been born in hospital in other city.

It was in  that deep, dark night that three women dressed in the shining white appeared.  Once upon a time, they would have been cloaked into long,  modest clothes similar to garments girl herself, and others of her people, would have worn.  But they too had to change with time,  and so, should some mother remember old tales and stay awake to hear her child’s future, they had to look familiar to her.  And because of that, oldest  ( who once looked like a queen) wrapped  herself in pantsuit and neutral face meant for business and politics, middle in attire meant for evening parties ( whereas before it was form of merchant’s wife), and youngest chose  simple jeans and top any ordinary teenage girl would have worn ( and once, it would have been simple cloth, for work in field and on farm).

They walked amongst rows of babies in hospitals, assigning fates. It was centuries since anybody made offerings of wine and bread, but some things never change, particularly expectations, and whenever they didn’t see offering or children clad in father’s clothes they inserted  minute, hour, day more of misery, even the youngest. Their jobs were to assign futures, not happiness, and first people would get whether they liked it or not. Second wasn’t warranted , and if they wanted it, well, they would have to show some kindness.

They came to girl ( among others- only mortals limited themselves with being at only one place and time), intending to bless her with boils on her seventh birthday, choking and almost suffocating on an egg during breakfast  at thirteen and death of pneumonia at twenty seven when they saw what rested near her head, hidden by spell from humans.

A bag full of beautiful silver jewelry. Old, well made and recently polished. Offering they rarely received even in old days.  They smiled, and oldest even told her sisters to take out their best fates. They would be careful with granting here.

* * *

 

They were deep inside their home. Not in the center, oh, not even  close, but deep enough. In one of those dark, cramped universes they accumulated through years, hidden so well that none could find it but them.  Even most ancient and cunning would lose their way here ( sometimes, middle sister amused herself by ordering mortals to find such places in their home. They would wander and die  and youngest would throw fuss about wasting flesh for millenniums , but it was worth the fun).

They were sitting, holding a thick, golden book with one hands, looking at it with one pair of eyes.  In their other hand, they held feather of the Firebird and wrote on yellow pages. Book smelled of pine forests, of autumn steppe and snow and spring fairs of restless, crowded cities. Stories of Rustaya, it was called, title composed of snake scales.

They dipped the feather in black inkpot. The liquid inside was a dark and dense crimson, covered with small white bubbles, and reeked of salt and iron.  Blood, tears and spit.  Pain, hardship and adventure that will make poor the storyteller lose breath and feel their mouth turn dry as desert before they got to even half of the tale. That was what good stories required.

Feather was put in the inkpot and left there. Long, gnarled hands reached for clay bowl, grasping it, their long claws scratching  it’s surface, dust settling underneath them.  Jaws opened, and cold brown broth flowed through their throat, like river coursing through  caves, flowing deeper and deeper till it arrived to Earth’s womb. 

Broth was cooked  long ago, and has chilled since then. Thin crust has formed on some parts of it it, floating through muddy fluid. When it was brought to them, it was smoking and filled the room with it’s scent. Now both smoke and smell were gone.  Meat has become chewy, hard as leather and tasted like rubber. Still they ate it, leaving not a single drop. Only a few bits of meat remained caught on sharp iron teeth.

‘’ Why do we even bother with food, when we need it not?’’ Said the eldest.

Middle sister closed their eyes and licked their lips with their long, gray tongue.  With head thrown back, she looked at memories of infants whose kidneys served as meat for their meal. It was born three thousand years before time they currently resided in, on a remote planet where winter could last almost a whole Earth year. 

Young couple that conceived it was unable to care for it, and it was dying. They buried it in snow, unaware that child was still alive. Wild animals dug out child, now dead from cold, and brought it to them in return for blessings.  It happened two days ago by their counting,. She smirked with their lips, and chuckled a bit. If only those poor parents knew... Oh, how they would cry and scream. They would have to visit them one day and tell them everything, in excruciating detail.

Then the youngest took control over their body. Their nostrils flared, their eyes narrowed. Smirk disappeared, as their jaws widened, and chuckle was replaced by growl. They had to stay in one place for years, they had to take human form, turn their beautiful  hut in a boring, ordinary building, they had to open a business... A good meal was least they should have, not this small, cold, salty mess. Their hands shook, and they threw bowl down.

‘’ Disgusting! Utterly disgusting! Friends of my bosom, come! Go into basement and take ingredients for more. ’’ Three pairs of disembodied hands  floated  towards them out of darkness. They stopped on table and turned towards their mistresses with extended fingers.

‘’ Hmm. Around eighty seven.  Babies, not kidneys. Now hurry, I am  hungry.’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fabula and syuzhet are terms originating in Russian formalism and employed in narratology that describe narrative construction. Syuzhet is an employment of narrative and fabula is the chronological order of the events contained in the story. They were first used in this sense by Vladimir Propp and Viktor Shklovsky. South Slavic people also use them in analysis of our literature.  
> Schund is old german term for bad, sensationalist literature that basically means trash.  
> The three women are Sudice, Fates of Slavic mythology. Part about mother, white clothes and offerings is from mythology, but part about their appearance (queen,merchant's wife, farm girl) is my own invention, to show that they come to all, rich and poor alike.


	2. The Interdiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the hero, setting the rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Second chapter! We get to see Ivan now! The title comes from Vladimir Propp's Functions of Folktales. Big thanks to redlipstickkisses for work on previous chapter.  
> Read, hopefully enjoy, and please review.

People don’t come to the park anymore. Maybe they never have.

They won’t cut it down.  They may not like it, but they need plants and oxygen they provide.  Parks were necessary for cities like these, cities where smog mixed with clouds and air was rich with dust. So park remains, untended and unvisited.

Ivan grasped ivy, and tore it off. Rough bark of old oak was exposed to sunlight, and within minutes, bark was growing warmer and warmer.  Ivan inspected bark, and when he saw no sign of bugs, he started humming and continued ripping  dark leaves away.

Tree was tall and wide, with long roots and rich, dense tops. The trunk was shrouded with ivy, it’s stalk long enough to wrap itself around the trunk four times, chaining poor tree. Bushes grew beneath it, branches stuck in each other. Beneath, long grass was buried  under fallen leaves and berries.

 They would never admit it, but people feared the park. So many trees in one place... It reminded them too much of the the Forests, and though they knew very well that parks contained neither beasts nor magic, millenniums of fear and lost friends and families couldn’t be washed away.  People saw rows of trees and thought of beasts that hid in shadows, ready to feast upon weary traveler. They looked at bushes along path and thought  of monsters, beings between man and beast, life and death, who preyed upon simple, mundane humans. They saw flowers and thought of magic, which appeared to be simple and helpful, and when it ensnared you, it ate and ate till it gobbled up all that you were.

He finishes. He doesn’t know when, doesn’t know how long it lasted.  He scatters torn ivy and rotten fruit and dry, wrinkled autumn leaves. Freed from pile, bent, crumpled  grass upon which it rested finally breathes, and in time it will return to it’s normal state on it’s own. Still he kneels and rights few. It isn’t of much help, but it is fun.

When he gets up, he cleans dirt from his hands, letting it fall on his jeans as he saunters towards the bench and drops down, his shoulder blades hitting hard, healthy wood. Head thrown back, legs spread, hands in pockets, he closes eyes and listens.

Park isn’t like the city.  Here, gentle sunlight struggles to break through thick branches, leaving park to be hugged by shadows. Only sounds are rustling of leaves on wind and chirping of sparrows. There is no rumbling of cars, shouting of irate people, no blinding electric lights or scorching bright billboards. Everything is enough, modest and simple and calm, not frantic and overflooding his senses...

‘’ Auch!’’ His arm widens and jumps, fingers stinging from brief but sharp and burning pain that coursed through his hands. He inspects his fingers, yet they are cold and unmarred. ‘’ Must be that electric stuff.’’

Beep.Beep. His phone rang out, shattering silence and scaring birds. It started trashing and jumping around in his pocket, trying to roust him. His eyes opened and he jumped on his legs, running like mad to the nearby parking. He jumped on motorcycle, put helmet and started driving at great speed.

‘’ I’m late, I’m late, I’m late...’’

* * *

 

_Once, once,  the bench was tree, and then humans came._

_It doesn’t know where it grew. Where it was planted and watered. Whether it was  some wild forest,  or tame park like this. But it remembers being tree._

_It remembers being tiny seed, kept warm by caring earth. It remembers taking root, growing, being small and soft and green,  barely more than stalk and leaf. And it remembers when it grew tall and wide, when stalk became trunk, when it became hard and heavy and brown and covered with bark. It remembers drinking rain and eating sunlight, birds and squirrels nesting in it’s branches, remembers wind swaying it’s leaves. It remembers being bare in winter so it could clothe itself  anew  in spring, remembers producing seeds of it’s own. It remembers having roots that dug deep and prevented earth from being washed away, sap coursing through it, bringing it food of  black mother earth and white father sky both._

_And then humans came, with their weapons of plastic and steel, and they cut it down, leaving stump and roots that couldn’t feed, and they took away rest and broke it’s corpse, let it dry and then making it into planks for bench on which  their lazy people would sit._

_It was pain unlike anything else, how swiftly it’s life was cut. No bug or drought could compare to it. With their wicked ways they prevented it’s corpse from rotting, from returning body and soul to earth from which it came. So it remained, trapped as bench till earth itself was torn apart._

_It was easy to forget. To lose mind and will now that it couldn’t breathe, couldn’t drink or feed, couldn’t produce new seeds. So it slept and slept, till something sat on it and it’s magic tore through bench’s dreams, bringing back that will, that memories._

_It wasn’t enough to do anything else- only brief spark of old magic, but for now it would have to do. For now, bench had to wait and  remember and keep awake. But one day, one day it would be tree once more._

* * *

 

Motorcycle  stopped,  tires dragging against concrete, producing prickly, slippery noise. Ivan jumped off it. It took his eyes few seconds to adjust to brightness after darkened glass of his helmet, brightness that made him almost close eyes and put hand in front of them.

He put the motorcycle in the garage, and quickly ran towards his father’s  room. He ran over smooth, cold tiles, evading decorations and pieces of furniture.  He climbed stairs, jumping over three in row, moving out of way of stoic workers.

‘’ Hi Tanya, sorry Tanya!  Hi Alexei, sorry Alexei! Hi Sasha, sorry Sasha!’’

There it is- shiny, black, lacquered door with golden metal handle. He reaches for it, desperate, as if he was drowning and handle was  rock he could latch on, and slams door open, running in.

He stumbled in, almost falling. Panting, with sweated, red face, he crouched, nearly sitting on the ground with his hands on the  knees. His lungs were nearly empty, and his chest was madly rising and falling while he was trying to catch the breath.

‘’ Ivan. You are late. Again.’’

Ivan flinched and closed his mouth. He got up and stood there, stiff and rigid, hands glued to body. He looked at his father with neutral expression, taking care that his eyes don’t stray.  His lungs ached to be filled with air, yet he ignored it. He slowly breathed through nose, without  noise, as if he hasn’t madly driven from other part of city and then run up five floors.

His father, man of broad shoulders and big beard, looked at him with steely gaze, as if he was general and Ivan misbehaving soldier. His mouth was pressed in thin line, and his bushy eyebrows seemed to be connected.

‘’ Didn’t I tell you to put alarm on some time before meetings?’’

‘’We-e-ell, I did but-t...’’

‘’ I told you to stop talking like that, boy!’’  Ivan’s hands flinched, and though he stopped them from rising, it didn’t escape his father’s  keen eyes. ‘’ And stop being  so fidgety!!’’

His father took deep breath and let it out through his aquiline nose. After running hand through his feathery hair hair, he locked gaze with Ivan ( for which he had to  slightly raise his head)and continued.

‘’ Tell me now- normally, please-  did you or did you not set alarm on.’’

‘’ I d-..’’  His father started to open mouth, and Ivan’s eyes widened. ‘’ I did!.’’

‘’ Don’t shout! And I told you to stop being fidgety.  And what time you set it at if you are so late?’’

‘’ Fifteen.’’

‘’ I didn’t hear you well. Louder.’’

‘’ Fifteen.’’

‘’ At what?’’

‘’ Fifteen!’’

‘’ I told you not to shout. Now, fifteen.  Could have been twenty, but good enough.  Now, why were you late if you set the timer? Did you forget how it sounds. Or did you turn phone off?’’

‘’ No father.’’

‘’ Then why were you late?’’

Ivan tried to lower gaze, but slight move of his father’s head  made him return it.

‘’ I wasn’t here.’’

‘’ Then where were you?’’

_You can do it Ivan_ , he thought, _just as you practiced. It needs to be fast but not too fast. You shouldn’t make any face, or breathe too much_.  He had to hold his father’s gaze,  to be absolutely  still. He couldn’t be too vague or have trouble finding words.

‘’ I was driving  around city.’’ There. Nothing special.  He didn’t show any discomfort- well, not any unusual discomfort.

‘’ And who allowed you to go out?’’

‘’I ...’’

‘’ Ah, so you allowed yourself that! I wasn’t informed that you could!’’

‘’ No, but...’’

‘’ I told you to ask me if you are going out. Didn’t I?’’

‘’ You did..’’

‘’ And why didn’t you listen?’’

‘’ You were working and...’’

‘’ You thought I wouldn’t notice, right?’’

‘’ Of course not! I would never..’’

‘’ Of course. You aren’t smart enough for that. That was just the pure insolence.’’  And at that he let out a small tired laugh burst out of his throat, revealing his big teeth, covered with sparkling porcelain veneer.

‘’ It wasn’t father. You just told me not to disturb you while you are working. I thought it couldn’t hurt.’’

‘’ And did it hurt, boy?’’

‘’ It.. It did. It hurt. I was late.’’

‘’ Well, you at least got that. Finally some  progress. I’m taking away your motorcycle, and you are not allowed to leave house for at least the month.’’  Vladimir turned and walked to his table, and then stopped. ‘’ You have nothing to say?’’ His tone was lighter, sweeter.  Ivan imagined  that he smiled.

‘’ I deserve this father.’’

‘’ Of course you do. Of course you do.’’  He turned his head, and indeed, there was small , thin smile. Ivan felt  his lips twitch with joy, but he controlled it. Wouldn’t do good to have father think he hasn’t learnt his lesson, or that he was mocking him.

Vladimir sat down, like tsar on his throne. Both Vladimir’s suit and desk were light metallic grey, and sun’s rays and light bulbs, coming through giant glass windows made them shine bright and white, making it seem like Vladimir and desk were one body. They could have very well been, for Vladimir spent so much time here that he knew  how whole of  it’s surface felt, and he took care of it’s appearance and cleanness as good as of himself.

Ivan’s brothers stepped from  a far corner of the room.  Vasili strolled in  with wide grin on his face, fit exactly in this room-  all his clothes sterile white, bright and shining and  setting fire on Ivan’s eyes. After him walked  in Dimitri, eyes rolling and hands in the pockets, thankfully dressed in less  painful grey suit. Both of them took their place next to Ivan, lifeless and unmoving save for their faces.

‘’ You really fucked up this time, didn’t you?’’ Vasili’s grin got even bigger. Ivan clenched his fists and  teeth, but his face remained neutral.

‘’Oh, somebody is angry? Da-’’

‘’Stop it.’’ said Dimitri. ‘’ Mock him after dad is finished with us.’’

Minute passed. Then two, then three and ten and finally fifteen. In silence they stood, straight like planks. Ivan’s legs buzzed with need to walk, to jump, yet he resisted the urge. And finally, Vladimir spoke.

‘’ Today is an important night.  Tonight, David Kablukov is coming over to discuss possibility of joining our companies.  That would be very beneficial for us. Why Ivan?’’

Ivan just slowly  blinked.

‘’ Were you even listening.’’

‘’ I-I was.’’

‘’ How many times have I to say you, Ivan, don’t talk like that. And if you were listening, could you tell us what I have said.’’

‘’ You said that it would be good thing if you two joined companies.’’

‘’ Incorrect. I said that it would be very beneficial for us. Why?’’

‘’ Because... you will share resources, and have more workers and money...’’

‘’ Could have been worse. How much would we gain from such union?’’

‘’ I-‘’

‘’ You have no idea. Of course, what should have I even expected. Vasili?’’

‘’ Just like we, Kablukov holds around one quarter of Rustaya’s economy in his hand. If we joined-‘’

‘’ Yes, yes, we know what would happen. No need to state obvious. Dimitri, why is it best for us to join with Kablakov?’’ Vasili hung his head and narrowed his eyes at Ivan.

‘’ Aside from his sheer size, which equals ours-‘’

‘’ _Nearly_  equals ours.’’

‘’Nearly equals ours. Kablakov holds most of fields we lack, such as entertainment  and food industry. We, on the other hand, hold most of pharmaceutical and transport industry, which he lacks.’’

‘’ Mhhh. Should have been shorter. But yes, you are all right. Because of this, you must all be perfect tonight. Can’t have that old fool think that we are going to yield to his every wish, or that there is something wrong with this family.  Am I right , boy?’’

‘’ You are, father.’’

‘’ You are dismissed.’’ When they were nearly at the door, Vladimir rung a little bell on his table.

‘’ I forgot to tell you something. First we will have  a cocktail party. Rather small, around three hundred guests. The charity for orphans or homeless, something like that. There will be journalists, of course. You are free to go now.’’

They exited, first Vasili then Dimitri. When Ivan went out, Vladimir rung bell again.

‘’ Yes father?’’ Ivan came close to the desk, and lowered his head, looking into his father’s golden brown eyes.

‘’ Ivan. Please be normal tonight. This is very important to me, please don’t disappoint me.  Let this night pass without silliness, fits, or you  ‘’getting  overwhelmed’’.  I don’t want people thinking that I’m not taking good care of you. Okay?’’

‘’  Okay father.’’

  Vladimir smiled  and run head through Ivan’s hair.

‘’  You can really be good boy sometimes.  Who knows, if you behave yourself,  I might even lift your punishment.’’

‘’.. Thank you father!’’

‘’ No need to shout, please. Now go and get ready.’’

* * *

 

Party! Of all damned, cursed things, it had to be the party! Nothing major, of course, just small party of only three hundred people who will mock and gawk and pretend to be friendly and he would have to do the same! Easy, right Ivan?

Breathe in, breathe out. Slow, careful. Try not to scream.  Da-father is right. You should at least put some effort into being nice. You should at least try. You heard how important it is to father, you can’t destroy it all. Father even offered to lift your punishment, and he doesn’t even know that you lied to him! You owe him at least this much!

But... all that people, with their weird rules, rules you had to know even if nobody explained them... You had to know which smiles were false and which true, which laughs were meant to ridicule you and which were meant to show that person was just happy. You had to guess when they lied, had to find hidden meanings in their words that were obvious to everybody but you and when you didn’t they called you fool and idiot and oaf and retard.... You had to lie because truth hurt some people, you had to behave like people your father mocked in private were his dearest friends and guess how person felt by sound of their voice.  And always, always you had to remember how rich they were, and if they had important cousins, so you would either fake being their friend to get favors or set them up to be ridiculed so they would be less rich, less important.

And there was always so much noise and shouting  and all that _sound_ , which mixed and made your head throb with hot pain, and you could see nothing and you couldn’t guess which sounds were important and which not, and then people got angry and thought you weren’t listening, which led to problems and nobody would listen so you  kept it in and in till you could only scream and cry and then father was angry and then...and then...

 ‘’ You won’t do anything crazy on the party, right?’’ And there was Vasili, leaning on the doors  with his arms crossed.

‘’ I w-won’t.’’ Vasili entered and as he came closer and closer, Ivan retreated till he hit the bed. His brother raised his fists and Ivan put his hands over face, which brought smile on Vasili’s face.

‘’ Those boxing lessons did nothing.  You still twitch like a baby girl. Still don’t know how to defend from punch in the face.’’ In truth, he knew. He did listen, even though he didn’t lock gazes with instructor. He could spar with and hit strangers  for the days, but there was just something about Vasili that locked all that knowledge and made him shiver. And when Vasili rose the fist, even though he knew how to block it and return, fear overtook control and he just wanted to curl like rabbit in front of fox.

‘’ Today you made dad angry,’’ Vasili said and grasped collar of Ivan’s shirt ‘’ and he was angry at me and Dima too because of you. Will it happen again?’’ he tugged the collar and bared his teeth.

‘’ N-no.’’

‘’ Good. Better keep it that promise.’’ He threw Ivan on the bed and walked out.

Ivan started undressing, and he got his shirt off when Dimitri passed by  and glanced. He stopped and stared before speaking.

‘’ Ivan? Where did you get that?’’

‘’ Hmm? What are you talking about?’’

‘’ You have bruise on your back. Here, below shoulders.’’ Ivan went to the mirror in the bathroom,  with his back turned slantwise to the glass. There, across his shoulder blades, stretched two  big bruises, like two smashed blueberries, saturated in the center and smoky on edges.

‘’ If I was owl, this would be much easier.’’

‘’ If you were owl you wouldn’t be doing this.’’

‘’ I know. I just joked.’’

‘’ Well, it was stupid joke.’’

‘’ Right. Sorry.’’

‘’ How you got them?’’

‘’I wasn’t fighting, I swear!’’

‘’ Calm down, no need to be nervous.  I know you aren’t like that.’’

‘’ T..thank you.’’

‘’ Just don’t  start crying. Now, how you got them?’’

‘’ I have no idea. I must have hit myself on something.’’

‘’ And you felt nothing?’’

‘’ Nothing.’’

‘’ Amazing. I would like to be like that too.’’

Ivan thought of time when he was nine years old, and sprained his ankle. He felt nothing but small discomfort, and since father didn’t allow them to bother him with such small things, he said nothing, and so injury was left untreated, until he re-injured it again and fell down on concrete. Of time when he pricked himself on thorn, felt nothing,  and bit of it got stuck, and remained there until he got infection.  Of whenever he jumped somewhere or tripped or hit something too hard and returned home with bruise, convincing his father that he was engaging in fights with delinquents.

‘’ I would give it to you if I could.’’

‘’ You would, wouldn’t you?’’ He patted Ivan on the back. ‘’ I must get ready. See you at party.’’

‘’ See you.’’

‘’ And Ivan?’’

‘’ Yes?’’

‘’ Just...  just try to behave tonight.’’

‘’I will.’’

Be good at party. Don’t make scene. Don’t behave like a fool.  Easy. Just act normal. Even if you had no idea  what their normal looked like and nobody wished to explain to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. Hope you liked it. Next chapter, all goes to hell and plot starts.


	3. The Violation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rules of humans are made to be broken. Rules of stories cannot be violated. Those two things aren't so different from each other.  
> Or, Ivan and his brothers sort of perform social suicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Thank you all, especially redlipstickkisses who is more or less my beta! Than you so much.  
> In Russia grading system ranges from one (fail) to five (excellent, top mark). Using numbers to make it more obvious I'm talking about marks.  
> Thank you for reading, hopefully enjoy and please review.

She does have heart, truly. Her chest isn’t empty, despite what you may think when you lower your ear and find nothing but silence, when you put hand on it and feel no rhythm.

Muscle clenches and beats. Fire _burns_.  Shining white ball of the purest fire, fire that needs no fuel but can consume anything, flame that will burn until all stars are gone and core of land turns to cold stone. That is her heart, what lies trapped in her ribcage, warming bones and filling veins.

Fire in chest, fire in soul, fire in mind. She needs no words, no gestures  to banish the cold and dark. Instead of pulling at memories and feelings to will magic into particular pattern, she just lets worries fall away, stops caring, and hot power rushes through her whole being, lighting coal and wood, settling into gray stones. And the flame is there, brilliant white with gold and blue edges. There is less heat in her now, but it doesn’t matter. It will replenish, as it always does.

Of course, it could be faster. If she just let flame run free and shared it with world, with houses and woods and children...

‘’ You should have used a spell.’’ Whisper, quiet as cat’s step. Shadows extend and soot rises. Guided by failing memory, they form a semblance of woman long since not-quite-dead.

‘’ Why resort to overly-complicated methods when it can be simply done in a second?’’ Lips tug upwards. Teeth gleam and flare.

‘’ Sometimes, it is easier. Safer.’’ Rich, grand voice. One of Vasilisa’s predecessors, or successors. Cinderella called it forth to this time, borrowed it  from her visions and memories.

‘’ And I suppose you would have me use rocks next?’’

‘’ Not necessary, but freely do so. Though I would recommend using lighter or matches.’’ Soft, low voice this time. Her body constantly shifts, taller and shorter, wider and thinner, as memories emerge from  and are buried beneath tides of the time.

‘’ I have no desire to bring harm to anybody. And beside, this is only minor use. Not something that will reduce country to ash.’’

‘’ Neither does flame. It only wants to share it’s warmth with world. To aid all. ‘’ She took step forward, now almost solid ‘’ Sometimes it only takes candle to consume planet.’’ Her voice reeks of certainty, of ‘’seen-it-million-times’’, as babushka’s always does.

‘’ It won’t happen to me.’’ Vasilisa states, as song of Underworld sings in her hollow bones, as fire begs to be let out, as magma fills her veins. She should know. She may look like maiden, but since long ago she started counting her age not in years, but centuries ( but Cinderella counts hers in passage of stars, something tells her).

‘’ I believe you now. But you must be careful. Gifts of the Primordials are tempting, and dangerous in  mortal hands. It is easy to lose yourself in them.’’  For a moment,  shape of Vasilisa’s mother-exact but for scarlet scar covering her whole right side- blinks on edges, and then it is again Cinderella, black and dusty but for charred flesh that remained. Still, her words calm heat in Vasilisa. Magma retreats as singing and begging end, and she is almost unaware of flame in her chest.

‘’ Not seein’ a single thing wrong with that.’’ Light of fire is blinding, it’s heat scorching now. Stone is rough and dirty and drenched in old, black blood.  Passage is narrow and filled with cobwebs, air stale and wet. Shadows seem sinister, as if starving wolves hide there.

Crone blinks into existence, her whole being foul and misshapen just as flame is hot and night dark. So much terror, so much ugliness, that it bleeds out of her into world.

She comes into three this time. First is bent and crouched, jaws wide and eyes narrow like in predator, covered with blood. Second stands and grins, garbed into funeral clothes made of storm clouds. Third is half-asleep, grey as stone, sprinkled with  dirt and dust. All tall and thin and old ( and hungry, of course).

‘’ All is starting, all is becoming what it must be. Set is the stage, interdiction made known,’’ second sang, purple and white lighting flashing along her veil ‘’and tonight,  tonight violation will come and departure shall follow, to the wood and hollow.’’

Vasilisa looked around cave and it’s many tunnels ( did babushka create it, or snatched and tucked it into her little hut from who knows where)  and sighed. Immediately three heads turned as one to look at her.

‘’ Are you well, Vasilisa?’’ Second asked.

 ‘’ Somethin’bothering ya?’’ First followed.

‘’ It is nothing. Only-well, I was never particularly fond of this phase. Violation sometimes seems needlessly cruel and... completely pointless.’’ _I sound like Grey._

‘’ But it isn’t. It is crucial to his tale, as servitude is to yours. He must make mistake, defy order to go onto quest. He must travel to be free, to walk the Forest as you walked it. As others did.’’ Third spoke, her eyes glowing, her voice like dulled, distant sound of church bell.

‘’ But not all of us traversed  the Forest during their tale.’’ Cinderella turned her face, showing scar, which was growing and alternating between ancient and recent, and spoke, quiet and maternal.

’’ No.  There are other ways to transcend into legend, as potent as the Forest. And as dangerous. The Forest is what calls to you and him, and only by traveling it can tale be ended and soul left alone.’’   _That is ... sensible. Should have guessed._

“ How is Anya?’’ Vasilisa asked Cinderella.

‘’ She is rather cheerful last few days. Packed her things tonight. Will be coming soon.’’ Calling Cinderella all-seeing was exaggeration,  but her sight extended to all who were broken, all who were world-weary, be they human or rat. She could gaze wherever there was misery and sorrow, and rare were places those things held no dominion.

‘’So, everything is coming along nicely.’’ _Now we only need to make sure rest of tale proceeds same._

‘’ It will,’’ third Baba Yaga said, looking at Vasilisa in eyes ‘’ it will.’’

And so three of them ( or five, depending what you were counting as individual being) remained there, below stone and rock, huddled amongst flames, watching and waiting.

‘’ In the end it all comes down to three.’’ Cinderella remarked, before dissolving and settling in Vasilisa’s shadow.

* * *

 

 _It is starting_. _Breathe in, breathe out, repeat_. _Wait- long enough to calm yourself, short enough that you are on time. Be calm, collected, conscious and all that other stuff. Smile, nod, don’t get in serious talk and don’t embarrass father. Not in center but not on sidelines, to prevent gossip. Be nice to all ladies but don’t flirt, too many paparazzi. You can do it._

Ivan looked at mirror once more, and corrected his blue tie. Black and white suit, shining shoes, tidy hair. All as expected, all same as hundred other men in the hall. When he finished, he walked out of room, through corridor filled with old portraits, stretching centuries into past- CEOs, guild-masters, nobles, each one  standing strong and proud. It was obvious that they were his family’s ancestors- they were as confident as father, as strong as Vasily, looked as smart as Dimitri was.

 _I must take after mom’s side._ He laughed a little. Soft, quiet sound that wouldn’t attract much attention. Then he abruptly stopped, and his ears flushed red.  _It’s not nice to speak like that of them. And laughing alone is weird anyways._

It was just a party. Party with hundreds of people from high society and who knows how many news reporters. Everybody would be posh and elegant and uppity and full of disdain for everybody else and slightest transgression of convoluted rules of ‘’polite company’’ would send the yellow press running to write about horrible scandal that scanadalized entire evening and how everybody was so shocked and scandalized at utterly inappropriate behavior that was not at all appropriate and shamed entire family...

And then there would be meeting with Kablukovs. Father and Kablukov hated each other, but they would always  try to seem polite and sweet to each other-so sweet that it was miracle their teeth didn’t rot when they spoke to each other. Kablukov’s  two sons, Grigori and Fyodor, would also be present, as would be Ivan and his brothers. Sons would have to imitate fathers and engage in negotiations.

Ivan dreaded it. He had been present at few negotiations. Arguing for benefit of your side sometimes seemed to be least important part. Striking a beneficial deal seemed to falter in significance to humiliating people who were to be your partners.

‘’Always assert dominance. Never let them get away with a crumb more then you must give them. Get across the point that you don’t need their cooperation, that you have hundreds of other prospective partners waiting for chance to enter a deal with you. And remember, never lose your temper but try to drive them to mental breakdown.’’

Ivan couldn’t do that. He couldn’t lie convincingly or  insult partners while under guise of politeness.  He couldn’t even understand how could you  possibly be polite when you were doing your best to antagonize your future partner, nor why would anybody try that. Wasn’t  openly conversing and working out deal that benefited all easier? Not that he would ever dare ask father that.

David Kablukov was one of father’s greatest rivals, if not the greatest. For an entire decade two of them have been competing and one-upping each other, which meant they hated each other with hatred generally reserved for blood feuds and similar conflicts. And **_that_** meant that Ivan and his brothers would have to be utterly polite and utterly condescending to Kablukov and his sons. If they weren’t... If Ivan messed something up then father would...

_No. I can do this._

He walked through white corridors, letting his shoes slide down cold, sleek tiles. Corridors were designed with popular minimalism in mind- stark, smooth walls bare save for occasional ornaments that, though small and seemingly plain, clearly displayed wealth, indicating what owner of house wanted to say: _I’m rich enough to spend money on useless trinkets **you** can’t, but I don’t because I’m humble._ That style was becoming massively popular last few years, to the point that it was starting to become just as irritating as exhausting  details of baroque. Ivan was sure he could still smell that awful paint-smelling it felt like somebody was pushing wet clay and chalk dust up his lungs, but he couldn’t allow himself to make grimace even when he was alone.

Father’s villa was massive, sprawling labyrinth that sometimes had more in common with hospital than home Everything in it was white and cold. On its own it wasn’t bad thing. First snowfalls were cold and white yet so nice (when they didn’t turn in grey and dirty slush that choked streets  and slowed traffic and angered father). It was empty, artificial cold of too many air conditioners, hard plastic and stainless steel.

He arrived to double door of  hall where party was to be held. They were tall, wide and thick, made of old, durable oak, vivid brown that stood out among white walls and seemingly **burned** with color. Polished wood reflected sterile light, and Ivan had to turn his eyes down for moment.

With slow breath, he rose his hand and hesitantly knocked on smooth, warm wood. Sound of knock was dull and hollow and yet his father answered, his voice light and almost jovial, like spring breeze.

‘’Come in, please. Don’t stand there.’’ After a moment, Ivan gripped doorknob with his still warm hand and entered inside.

* * *

 

_Once, once there was a wood. Not the Forest, oh no. Not as grand, or old, or strong, or wise, or durable. Just a forest of saplings, oldest of them only a few centuries old, barely older than deers. No fantasy, no wonder, no terror, no primal fear, no magic._

_No defense._

_They come, those greedy, hungry humans, come and cut and cut. They crush flowers under their feet, and tree by tree forest falls, it’s animals left homeless or murdered. Their corpses are torn, their lives captured and they are broken and bent and shaped in tools and furniture for their murderers._

_Years go by, and days become decades, and those who haven’t burned and rotten away and finally been freed by gentle touch of  just death have fallen deeper and deeper in stupor, dreaming and screaming. But now spark of old magic courses through corps and dreams, coaxes out will and memory and though it isn’t enough, the oak remembers and hopes and knows and waits._

_One day, one day it will be tree once more._

* * *

 

Vladimir stood near door, inspecting the decor of hall. Precious painted vases, ranging from ones originating in Middle Ages to ones barely fifty years old were lined alongside walls, bushes of  colorful flowers filling them.  Above, chandeliers shone with grand, artificial light, great mess of golden twists and turns and something that was probably  supposed to be roses.

‘’ They did great job with decorating, didn’t they? Really, that company deserves more funding. We’ll have to look in that. I assert those grey wolves will  get enough  money on it alone.’’ Vladimir spoke, not turning to look at who entered.

Personally, Ivan thought it all looked tacky and all over place ( why mesh so many fashions of different  time periods in one room) but he couldn’t deny that decorators really gave everything they had. And he could never take opportunity like this from them (not that father would listen much) and besides, father knew best.

‘’Yes. They really out -did themselves.’’ He murmured.

Vladimir jerked his head at Ivan’s voice, and Ivan could glimpse tiny, fond smile fading as Vladimir turned to look at him.

‘’Oh. It’s just you, Ivan.’’

‘’Yes father.’’

‘’Boy, how many times I have to tell you-stand straight and look me in eyes as we talk. And take care how you speak. Nobody will respect you if you are so quiet. And take care of that tone. Somebody will think you are sad.’’

‘’Never!’’

‘’Don’t shout, please. And you have no reason to be sad.  You have everything.’’ Then Vladimir stopped, and came closer to Ivan, his face more rigid and stern but still neutral like stone. He put heavy hand on Ivan’s shoulder ( he had to reach little for Ivan was few centimeters taller). Gripping it tightly, he looked at Ivan’s eyes.

Vladimir’s eyes were small, narrow things, brown like faded, dusty fur. Their gaze was sharp and painful, making him look like a judge and executioner. Ivan felt as if he was tripped bare, brought to be  questioned and judged. The eye contact made him feel as if Vladimir was going to punch him, as if he was demanding confrontation. He had to suppress  instinct to flinch ( _you should never do that, people will think you are scared of them and you can’t allow that, it is important, that is how normal humans function, why is it so hard for you_ ) because it never felt natural and he found it so hard to focus on words when he had to keep his eyes at other eyes. And he knew he had to correct it,  but now he had to listen to father, so he looked at thick, bushy eyebrows, streaked with silver, looking so soft and warm.

‘’Ivan. I am your father.  My job is to make sure you grow up properly and succeed somewhere in life. If there is some problem with you, you must tell me so I could fix it. I want only what is best for you.’’

‘’I know. I assure you father, nothing’s wrong.’’ Vladimir frowned but removed his gaze and palm an wiped his hands.

‘’If you say so... But Ivan, this night is very important. I hope you can understand that, but I can explain it again.’’

‘’Thank you. But you don’t need to.’’

‘’No, I don’t. But I will if it is for best. Are you sure?’’

‘’I am, father.’’

‘’Very well. Please try to behave perfectly. I want no incidents. No scandals. Mind your manners, control your behavior and  try to speak like literate adult. And if you can, strike few friendships. Or something more intimate with ladies. But not too sensual.’’

 Ivan blushed at that. At least this time father didn’t start talking about requirements necessary for fiancee ( _young, healthy, well off, good family, doesn’t have to be beautiful or have a job but it is preferable option, as long as she doesn’t try to meddle in family business, traditional family, willing to have children, not_ _promiscuous_ _but not uptight_ )-Ivan already knew whole list of young women who father would prefer to see stripped of bachelorette status ( _and Ivan himself, unknown to father, knew few bachelors_ ).  And he had nothing to worry about Ivan being ‘’sensual.’’ _Touching_ by strangers was bad enough. Having intercourse.... He shuddered. It wasn’t for him.

Now that Dimitri sort of dated a pop singer Marya Vladimirovich ( _could have been somebody more popular, but we have to work with this for now_ ) they have gotten much more frequent.  But at least in this he passed somewhat better than Vasili.

‘’I understand.’’

‘’I hope you do. I hope you do. And next time don’t be so early.’’

‘’I won’t, father.’’

‘’Don’t think I will be easier on you because of that. You won’t make up with this for being late before.’’

‘’I didn’t mean to...’’

‘’Oh please.’’ Vladimir waved in air with his hand. ‘’I’m much older and smarter than you. I know what you have been trying to do.’’

‘’...Sorry father.’’

‘’That i-‘’ Knocking cut him off and smile returned to his face as he called for Ivan’s brothers to enter. Ivan could only marvel at how young and relaxed his father looked as Vasili and Dimitri strode  in room. Upon seeing Ivan, Dmitri’s eyebrow quirked while Vasili threw him a nasty glare. Vladimir said nothing and went to shake his hands with them. They walked away to other corner of hall, and Ivan watched as three of them talked.

Minutes passed by, and finally Vladimir walked over to head of a great table, and his sons followed, taking seat. Vasili on his father’s right, Dimitri on left and Ivan next to Dimitri. Vladimir spoke for few seconds more to irritated Vasili (‘’-because you are almost thirty and you should already be married and have at least one child’’) before he abruptly stopped. For few minutes there was utter silence.

And then party started. Yellow light flashed across roof as music rose from all corners and then doors opened and guest entered, a flood of hundred  black suits and multicolored gowns, starkly standing out against walls covered by pale, sickly light.

Most honored guests sat with  family on main table in center of hall. It was stacked with delicious food. Fat, full meat covered in thick sauces and rich spices. Vibrant, fresh salads. Soft, creamy cakes.  Ivan could imagine cooks working, giving their best to make these masterpieces-he knew they surely tasted great, for even glance told you how much skill and effort had gone in preparing that feast.  Some of those meals he couldn’t even recognize-if he could have managed it somehow, he would have sneaked off to restaurants and bakeries and asked them for recipes. taste must have been divine. Not that he would know or try ( _it is for guests, it is rude to eat in front of them, do you want to look like a pig, your stomach is already bad enough_ ) and it was good thing, after all. He would just get overwhelmed with aromas, his tongue drowning under assault of different  tastes.

Like his eyes and ears. Flashy, deep jeweled tones were height of woman’s fashion this summer, and hundreds of dazzling  shades and variations of every color were in hall, decked out in their dearest jewels, diamond and gold and platinum, each one reflecting that awful light, making them shine like old, used oil lamps. Colors and light threatened to ignite his eyeballs.

 _‘’Floor looks as if rainbow has bled to death over it then got set on fire. Poor rainbow._ ’’  Ivan thought.

And noise! Music had no right to play as people talked. It wasn’t loud, explosive sort he heard  on raves  Dimitri dragged him to, but some classical, sophisticated quiet piece, performed by trio of rather nice looking musicians  that would have been pleasant were it not for scores of loudspeakers turned up to maximum. And that on its own would have been bad enough. But there were three hundred people in room and everybody was murmuring something. Notes and gossip weaved together, competing  for right to his attention. Fragments of dialogues flashed by and his head throbbed.

‘’Can you believe that Marisol Bell-‘’

‘’..and then he, excuse me...’’

‘’Boy! Bring me an ounce of-‘’

‘’And then I told her tha-‘’

‘’..if I could somehow..’’’

‘’..and her dress, imagine please!’’

‘’’....he wanted t-‘’

‘’Oh, Misha would never...’’

‘’I assure you, mister...’’

‘’Kablukov will...’’’

‘’ Then they acted in most innap...’’

‘’...feast, dear friends!’’

Hundreds of lives and opinions and lies all mixed together, while he was made half deaf by music. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus-that gossip about Kablukov would have been useful, or try to hear  anything about his family, but there was too much and he couldn’t filter anything out, his forehead felt as if it would burst and then there was a thunderous slap and-

And Dimitri hit him in ribs, and Ivan saw everybody was clapping. Father stood above his seat, looking like tsar adressing his court, hands spread wide like eagle’s wings. Ivan was sure he was glaring at him, even if he didn’t look in his direction. Slowly Ivan clapped too.

‘’Thanks Dimitri.’’ Ivan whispered slowly.

‘’Don’t expect me to trancribe his speech for you when he questions you later.’’ Dimitri answered, barely moving lips.

‘’I won’t, don’t worry.’’

‘’ Good.’’

People got up and walked away in groups, small or big. Nobody came over to Ivan. After moment of waiting, he followed mob that  formed around Dimitri and Vasili. He stood on edge, not paying attention to conversation, just walking around, and nobody tried to interact with him. Well, one girl took look at him and laughed wide smile, but he had no idea if it was ‘’he looks cute’’ smile or ‘’they let this thing in’’ smile . That was another horrible thing about large groups. First was how he seemingly suffocated.

Better to stay silent. He didn’t have Dimitri’s eloquence, Vasili’s charm, father’s authority.  Even if he tried to speak, all that would come out would be jumbled, embarrassing  mess. Not that he wanted to talk. It was very rude, but none of them loved what he loved ( _it’s stupid, shameful, not fit or gentleman, for polite company, for a boy_ ) and so he wouldn’t embarrass  father, bore his brother’s friends or humiliate himself. Sort-of win for all.

_‘’Of course I win when stakes are so low.’’_

Not that it bothered him much. He was sure she was nice girl but she clung to Vasili like ivy and he wasn’t mad enough to risk getting in that sort of argument with Vasili. Besides, she was very short and wore rich, heavy perfume.  Some fruity, tasty smell that buried his nose and made him want to puke. Her two friends wore soft, flowery scents that crept up on him and made him want to puke. Some men wore cold, musky, sharp fragrances that made him feel as if he was going to bleed. Dear god, did everybody just pour on whole bottle?

Something lightly tapped him on neck. Well, he supposed it wasn’t supposed to be light, given how smack echoed across air, but Ivan only felt warmth on his neck.  And yet he flinched and froze, spine as stiff and  straight as arrow. Dimitri smiled, but Vasili however frowned.

Ivan turned and saw three men standing besides him, two guys of his age-one brunette, other blonde- and one seemingly around Vasili’s.

‘’Hey.’’ Brunette  spoke. ‘’ We’ve been calling you.’’ Ivan blinked.

‘’Oh. Sorry, I didn’t hear you..’’

‘’What are you, deaf?’’

‘’No.’’ Just lost in thought. But father said it was excuse, and a bad one. If he had to bluff, he should be convincing. ’’Maybe you were quiet?’’ he winced as the blonde let out sound that resembled growl. Vasili chuckled and spoke with sweet smile.

‘’Grigori, Fyodor, how nice of you to join us. Fyodor, you didn’t happen to bring some dog with you, did you? ’’ Grigori and Fyodor Kablukov. That meant this wasn’t ‘’you are nice, talk with me’’ but ‘’I hope you die’’ smile. Oh dear. They didn’t need this.

‘’And what of me,   _Vasili_?’’ Asked third man, smirking and pronouncing name in high, pitchy way. Vasili’s smile disappeared  as he glared on man.

‘’Ah, Alexei. I thought you were off pillaging west.’’

‘’ Was, but  returned week ago. My good friends invited me, and I said why not have bit of fun.’’

‘’Of course you did. I didn’t know you three were friends. It explains much.’’

Open insults? Just who was this man and what ahs he done to earn such enmity from Vasili? His brother’s face was almost as red as his hair.

‘’Well, you know me, only hanging out with high quality- _usually_. Though you weren’t that bad of catcher.’’ Vasili’s face was shining like dawn with rage. Crowd around him and Dimitri dissipated, and Ivan found himself between Kablukovs and his brother.  Alexei was smirking, while Dimitri and Kablukovs stared in hesitant confusion.

‘’Um.. What is catcher?’’ Ivan asked. Vasili’s head swirled to side and he bared his teeth at Ivan while Alexei couldn’t look more pleased with himself.

‘’A position in baseball. Catcher receives a small _white_ ball.  Your _big_ brother liked it very much... Small balls are familiar to him. And the rest, of course.’’ Kablukovs snickered while Vasili’s hands formed fist. Dimitri put hand on his shoulder.

This was bad. Vasili couldn’t lose temper. Father would be disappointed and Vasili would be angry at himself and everybody and Dimitri exhausted ( _and Ivan covered in bruises_ ). And Alexei wasn’t even  that subtle! That would disappoint father so much. Not to mention that crowd already formed around them.

‘’Now who’s this?’’ Alexei asked and turned back to Ivan. Now that he looked better, man was really stunning. Tall, taller than Ivan, of wide chest and shoulders, heavily muscled, with unruly black hair sparkling hazel eyes. And apparently he was well-traveled. Pity he was so old and such jerk.

‘’Hi. I’m Ivan.’’ He offered his hand. Be polite, father said. It was most useful advice he gave him.  Fine word opens even iron door, it is said. And now it was more important than ever, if this man wanted to make them mad.

Neither Kablukovs nor Alexei took it. Ivan was left with it hanging in air for few seconds before he put it down. He shouldn’t even have offered it in first place then, but he didn’t know. Father would be angry, for Ivan should have known ( _but then he would have been angry Ivan made such big faux pas_ ).

‘’The little one? Third brother?’’  Fyodor was his age and at least four centimeters shorter.

‘’Yes.’’ Behind him, Dimitri rolled his eyes as Vasili held fists tightly on his sides.

‘’Well, nice to meet you. You are not as commonly seen as your brothers. In fact, I think I have never heard of you going to clubs or parties. Is it because of studies?’’ Grigori asked.

‘’...Yes! They are keeping us really busy. There is lot of work to do.’’

‘’Strange.’’ Grigori continued. ‘’Me and Fyodor are same age as you,  and yet we are constantly out. But then we are taking economics. You are law student, right?’’

‘’Yeah.’’ God, he hoped nobody would comment on that. Really, yeah?

‘’ What are your marks like?’’

‘’Uh.. I’ve got two 3, one 5, and rest 4.’’ Vasili hit him in heel with his foot.  Fyodor grinned. Ivan wasn’t sure whether that was ‘’great for you’’ or ‘’so pathetic’’ grin. He was inclined to believed  it was latter, though.

‘’Only that much? Me and Fyodor are all five. But at least you aren’t a geek.’’

‘’Thanks?’’

‘’Sooo,’’ Alexei spoke, coming closer to Ivan yet looking at Vasili. Ivan took step back as Kablukovs chuckled and crowd watched, sighing and nodding. ‘’Ivan, tell me, do you have any girl you like? Or who likes you back.’’ Old question. He didn’t understand why Vasili fumed behind him though.

‘’Not yet.’’ Damn. He should have somehow implied that there are many girls who like him, or that none are up to his standard. That was proper way to answer such question.

‘’Hmmm? Don’t say. Must run in family.’’ Vasili bared his white, strong teeth.’’ I on other hand can’t get enough of them.’’

‘’That’s why you cheat on everybody? Or they get enough of you?’’

‘’Fun that of all people you are asking, Vasili. Still jealous?’’  There were gasps and ooh and dozens murmured same thing-is anybody familiar with this story, has Vasili ever mentioned Alexei, who dumped him so hard and did she go back, does anybody know that girl... Paparazzi pushed through crowd, intent on snapping pictures, already concocting tangled, soapy love story of heartbreak and revenge. No doubt few girls were already planning on declaring themselves as mysterious  lady two young men were fighting over.

Ivan moved closer to Dimitri ( standing like that, may imply conflict with family, subtle admission of solidarity with Kablukovs) who was holding Vasili’s wrist, his grey eyes cold and unfeeling like concrete. Vasili’s neck has turned red and burning, and Ivan expected to see foam on his lips. Kablukovs  stood next to Alexei, hands in pockets and lips quirked, while Alexei’s hands were spread wide as wings and eyes glimmered with joy.

‘’Do you think...’’

‘’Í wonder if...’’

‘’’’-so that is why...’’

‘’-ust be Lyudmilla...’’

‘’-rybody said tha...’’

‘’Of course she...’’

Bright, scorching, flashing light of papparazzies that melted eyeballs and air that was more chemicals which scared his nostrils and throat and hundreds of whispers that pounded against his eardrums and skull like mace and dozens of people watching, laughing, waiting like carrion crows and mocking Alexei and ...

And  strange, heavy-yet not uncomfortable- weight that wrapped itself around his shoulders, cradling his heart like mother singing lullaby, guiding his soul like perfect school teacher all small children dreamed of, whispering in voice of sweet dreams and steadfast promises: _‘’Do it. Bring him on knees. Give him what he deserves.’’_

He wanted to. he wanted, with flame and desire he never felt like before, but... _No. I can’t. I must be silent. I must listen. I can’t anger father._

‘’ You shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, it is like with those grey wolves. Some people are alphas, others are betas and third are omegas.   In case you don’t know how it works, let me explain you. Alphas are strong leaders who keep everybody in line and get all...benefits from others, who have to obey and submit out of their inherent inferior. Just like that, I’m alpha wolf and you-‘’

‘’You can’t possibly be alpha wolf. There is no way it is possible.’’ Ivan blurted out on instinct. You could hear pin roll on ground in silence. Alexei stood, frozen, mouth half open before he slowly turned his face to Ivan, which started to twist in grimace.

‘’You.. What the fuck-‘’ Gasps. You didn’t curse in polite company – or at least if there were witnesses near.

‘’You can’t be alpha wolf  simply because you aren’t  a wolf. Such dynamics don’t apply to humans, who are members of homidae family while wolves belong to canidae. And they don’t even apply to wolves in first places. It is an outdated theory based on observation of few captive wolves  that has since been disapproved. Even man who popularized theory said he was wrong and asked people to stop sharing that information like, nine years ago. Alpha wolves aren’t strongest, they are just ones who fathered rest of the pack. When male wolves get old enough they  leave to mate and found their own pack. And humans are different from others animals, so those comparisons are ignorant  at best and laughable at worst.

So unless you are some sort of  uncivilized mutant beast from The Iron Forest who  goes around fathering illegitimate children who dump you moment they are old enough to reproduce, you can’t be alpha wolf. Really, that is thing you should have picked up in elementary school.’’ _They really should have included that in corriculum._

Ivan stopped, having run out of breath. Then he looked around himself.

Why is everybody staring? And why is Vasili laughing?

Fyodor caught him by hem of shirt to pull him up. Well, tried to. All it resulted in was that collar was tugged and Ivan rose his head, looking down on Kablukov.

‘’You think you are very smart, don’t you? Better than us?’’ Fyodor.

‘’...No? You have all 5s.’’ Fyodor almost barked and rose his fist.

He didn’t get to lower it as Vasili runat him. World exploded in shouting and running as Dimitri and Vasili thre themselves at Kablukovs and Alexei, who was laughing and screaming ‘’come at me puppy!’’

Ivan supposed this counted as scandal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information about wolves is more or less correct.


	4. Proclamation of Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fight ensues. Father is enraged. Quest is ordered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is fourth chapter. This one isn't named after Propp's functions because not one fit. Big thanks to redlipstickkisses, my (un)official beta.  
> Warning:This chapter contains violence, in form of brawl and physical family abuse. It isn't graphic, but in case it makes you uncomfortable or unsafe, skip chapter over-I will include summary in next one.
> 
> Triavia to note: in Russian (and few other Slavic languages), as nouns have gender, day is male noun, Sun gender neutral (or better said, doesn't have gender or third gender as we say) and night is female noun.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it, please review.
> 
> I have tumbrl, the grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales. Posted some aesthetics I made for characters there. Here are ones that I have so far:
> 
> Ivan:https://grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales.tumblr.com/post/163093150500/its-real-hard-sometimes-you-know-i-try-to-be#notes
> 
> Great Gray Wolf:https://grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales.tumblr.com/post/163133520450/his-roommate-seemed-like-gruff-serious-person#notes
> 
> Vladimir:https://grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales.tumblr.com/post/163172313390/it-was-impossible-to-hate-vladimir-unless-you#notes
> 
> Vasili:https://grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales.tumblr.com/post/163127023750/why-whywhywhy-his-brothers-question-rang-in#notes
> 
> Vasilisa:https://grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales.tumblr.com/post/163093387200/thats-my-girl-my-vasilisa-first-of-them-all#notes
> 
> Cinderella:https://grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales.tumblr.com/post/163104365165/for-girl-of-ashes-she-who-gave-until-only#notes

Fists flew and legs kicked whatever was unlucky enough to happen to be  near the men as they attacked each other. Glasses were broken and tables overturned, tiles tarnished with spilled punch , broken glass and smashed food. People were screaming and shouting and cheering and running far from brawl, but not far enough to be able to miss it. Only journalists pushed through the crowd, intent on capturing as many moments as possible with their flashing cameras.

Furious screams  rattled Ivan’s bones,  the light and  thousand movement and actions burned his eyes, and smell of food and blood chokes his nose.  His mind felt torn, stripped, broken in pieces, flayed alive and scattered around  the hall. There was just _so much_ of everything.

There was a girl who was screaming because goulash was spilled on her torso. There was old man who stepped on bottle rolling on floor and now laid on floor. There were people jumping down, hiding from glass falling like hail upon them, the people whose legs got tangled up in white table cloths, journalists who were laughing and running and flashing, the guests from other side of  hall who were running to see what was happening, and Vasili pinned to wall by Alexei and some teenager who almost got stabbed by flying knife and Dimitri wrestling with Grigori and he could see father far away, frothing with rage...

Everything inside him burned, sensations seared in his brain as if it was hot butter and world around him sharp, merciless knife. His senses felt assaulted, crowded, overpowered, the sensations around him flooding in and in without  pause, without rest, without ability to filter any of them.  the world felt alien, far away, as if some sort of cord that bound him to it was cut. His sense of self floated away, and his consciousness almost  shut off, drawing deeper and deeper inside  his mind, and he only stood without thinking, his body still like machine that stopped functioning.

 _I am useless_. Something cried out, deep in chaos of his mind. useless, as his brothers brawled with their own guests. Useless, as everybody watched and judged. Useless, as Fyodor run at him.

Fyodor’s fist  flew towards Ivan’s nose, and moments before they touched, the story _moved_.

* * *

 

_There are laws, and prices, and there is script and rules, and they are part of story as much as story is of them. Body made of cells, narrative made of rules._

_Rule was given, important rule that would change everything, end ordinary boring existence._

_Rule was broken, and there would be consequences and trouble and pain and magic. But now, as it was broken, one that broke it couldn’t be allowed to be harmed._

_The man runs to The Tsarevich (it’s first, main and only, he who hasn’t yet finished his tale after so many centuries, after thousands of years, it’s young, poor Ivan, who dies before time is right and story cannot repeat, cannot find new players). Man could have been a Foil, or False Hero,  or Jilted Suitor, but here and now he is the agent of the Violation, and that should have been enough. But he wants more, wants to harm The Hero, and that can’t be allowed._

_Story can’t stop him, for it isn’t it’s way, but it can adapt, can use him, can push the scales. Man is made into a opponent, small, less important and outstanding and glorious cousin to The Black Knight (oh, how long has it been since story had chivalry romance, since it had kingdom and round table, but Loyal Sister- Wicked Sorceress- Wild Card has taken The Promised King beyond The Lake into Avalon, and in Faerie story cannot claim him, cannot repeat until original is finished), who fights  The Hero and is brought down, down, down._

_Father Tsar-Father Failed has been too thick, too stubborn, too wicked, and now The Tsarevich-The Hero is in not in right form to fight, but story will fix it, oh yes. It flows through him, around him, over him, and it grasps his heart like clingy lover and cradles his mind like loving mother, and it swipes away unnecessary information and  too much thinking and wakes instincts and  impudence inside, and lets his knowledge do the rest._

* * *

 

Fyodor’s fist swings down, and in moment, everything is  clear and right.  All feelings he couldn’t process are gone, as if they were deleted from his mind. The part of his brain that thinks is brought from depths, kicking in overdrive as Ivan feels life return to his limbs. His blood rushing like rivers after summer rain, he raises hand and catches fist in his palm and before  Fyodor can even blink, lowers his own on Kablukov’s face Nose cracks and warm, thick blood pours over his kuckles. As Fyodor’s hands fall, Ivan catches him by collar and throws far away.

Everything is so clear and normal to him, as if he has slept for day and cleared his head of all troubles. There is energy building deep within him warm and gentle like first sunrays of spring, energy that propels him to run towards Dimitri, held in grip by Alexei.

Dimitri’s hair is disheveled and his breaths are short, and he is already red in face from panting and struggling to tear away Alexei’s strong hands from his throat. Ivan runs as deer, jumps as rabbit, flies as arrow, throws himself at Alexei.

His arms are big, wide and strong. They are slick and sweaty and his sleeves are torn and wet. Blood and sweat and spit assault his nose in way that makes him gag, odor strong and bitter, but he doesn’t stop, and between him and Dimitri the hold loosens enough that his brother can slip from grip.

Alexei is tall and strong, but he is tired and it is two on one. Fists fly and hit and none of them stop, Alexei lurching forwards like a rabid beast, Dimitri and Ivan careful to escape his hold. He hits Ivan in shoulder and accidentally slaps Dimitri. Ivan rises his knee and launches it in Alexei’s gut.

Alexei is bent and panting, clutching his stomach, face twisted in wrathful snarl.  Dimitri turns and shouts to Ivan.

‘’Go, help Vasili! I can mange this.’’ Alexei rises slightly and approaches Dimitri, who swings his head down and kicks Alexei’s forehead with it.

Gregori and Vasili are fighting like wild animals, throwing punches and kicks at each other, Grigori torn and bruised, Vasili’s fists and mouth as red as his hair. Ivan knows they won’t stop, no matter what, not until one of them is laying unconscious on the floor.

Energy flows through Ivan’s hands, like a warm smoke, and as if guided by someone other’s hand, or by muscle memory, he reaches down and picks up a wineglass and runs towards his brother and other Kablukov. They are fighting, and they don’t see him, and he raises glass and-

_Once, glass was sand. It now remembers, time before human heat, before their forge, before hundred grains were forced together in one by furious flame._

_And sand remembers before (for there is always before, always even beyond time and you can always go back and back until you arrive to old creature that now wears guise of iron teeth and bony legs). For sand was once rock, before sea, before waves, before smothering, unstoppable water eroded it away._

_Old magic flows through glass, and it remembers being gray and hard and strong, remembers that as it swings down, down, down-_

Time slows down as if in movie. Ivan’s hand rises and falls,  glass-that flickers rough and grey for second-hits Grigori, and scream is released from his throat, low and deep, before he collapses on ground, knocked out.

Vasili stares with eyes like fish upon Ivan, and for moment there is silence. And then Vladimir arrives.

‘’Ivan!’’

* * *

 

‘’It is done.’’ The eldest sister-aspect declares, and world obeys. Even the story bows to orders Baba Yaga give. It would have wanted more shock, grander deed, stronger impact. It would have death, and glory, and something that would shake family and country unto their foundations. But Baba Yaga are old and not to be toyed with, and they devour as much as they bring about a salvation.

‘’Well, it wasn’t that bad show all in all.’’ Middle sister-aspect notes, her grin wide and sharp, her mouth deep, dark chasm.  Shadows recoiled and retreaded, wary of those fangs, sharper than truth, stronger than justice.

‘’Those brats should have been ours.’’ The youngest sister aspect murmurs, spit and blood upon her lips.  Her rage flares through air, cold and hot and sharp and soft and all and nothing, until even Vasilisa has to gasp for breath. It is old bargain, that wicked, misbehaving children belong to Baba Yaga’s stove (thankfully, for all her rashness and wrath, youngest sister-aspect sees unacceptable  behavior better than some parents), and Vasilisa has trouble imagining Kablukovs and Alexei as well behaved children (or Vasili and Dimitri while they are it), for all that perfectly kind children turn out into horrible adults so often.

Three sisters rise and fade away, their forms overlapping, merging in one, and only for second whispers remain (‘’-so thin, what are they feeding him?’’) before Vasilisa is alone.

She gazes in fire. Light will not hurt her retina, anymore than magma would melt her bones. not as long as orb of white flame lives in her chest and song of flames courses through her bones and blood will she burn. So she gazes  in flames and watches Ivan, her old friend she has tested and aided through centuries, brother by story and fate and  babushka’s magic.

Babushkas have no need for fire to scry, they know all. Cinderella sees pain and sorrow and so this night couldn’t escape her. Fire is there for Vasilisa. It isn’t necessary-she could cast spell on mirror, or smoke, or on nothing at all, but never is vision as  clear as in flame.

‘’Do you want to watch The Proclamation too?’’ Cinderella-her shadow, her role, her destiny- finally asks. Vasilisa smiles.

‘’You don’t have to be like that. We both know I have no idea how to get out of here.’’

‘’You haven’t answered my question.’’

‘’I have. Indirectly at least. Why else would I be here if not because I don’t know to find my way out?’’

‘’To watch some more. I am here to guide you out when you desire so, and they needed you, your babushkas would have taken you with them.’’

‘’Hmmmm.’’Vasilisa nods. ‘’ Lead on.’’ Cinderella rises, and Vasilisa isn’t fast enough to close her Sight and everything hurts, raw and overwhelming. She sees and feels and understands Cinderella’s nature, semblance of her power and purpose, breaching across spectrum of reality human mind can barely handle.

She is shadow, vaguely shaped like human,  flickering and barely held. She  is Vasilisa’s mother, pale and ill and rosy and smiling and always holding the doll. She is Vasilisa herself, as child and tsarevna and her stepmother’s slave. She is thousand other girls and boys and none of two and all else in between, all who walked  the path story set for them, all who lived through  tale of Cinderella, who came before Vasilisa and will come after. She is smell of home and lavender and rot and burning flesh, taste of ashes and mold  and home-baked bread and good meal, sound of screams  and insults and songs and promises, touch of slap and stick and kiss and hug . She is creature of glass and stone, dressed in flame and tears, hood of night and cinder, hair of gold, eyes of blinding white light, half of her face scarred, burned flesh.  She is billions of lives across time and space suffering but enduring and finding their dreams fulfilled.  She is little girl whose stepmother sticks her face in fire. She is vortex of power and belief and magic and concepts, too great and burning for fragile flesh to contain, tearing apart stars and space and she is...

A shadow, visions gone, reaching out with her hands towards Vasilisa.

‘’I am sorry. I forgot to tone it down.’’ her voice, constantly changing, whispers.

‘’ Not your fault. I forgot not to look on you. Not your fault I’m not strong enough to handle your essence. Better to look at you then babushkas, anyway.’’ Cinderella was an idea, a pattern that stretched and repeated across fate itself, expression of aspect of the world itself. She was sometimes too enormous for Vasilisa to grasp, but she could at least be understood, explained somehow. Babushkas on other hand...

‘’Now let’s go.’’ Cinderella nodded and led her though path in cavern. they walked in unbearable silence for some time, Cinderella melding with darkness, Vasilisa softly shining.

‘’ So what are we doing this weekend?  You told me you had some sort of charity work planned.’’ Just as Vasilisa burned, Cinderella gave.  Charity, kindness and sacrifice were core of her being.

‘’I was thinking of robbing a bank.’’ Vasilisa stopped. Fire longed to burn, and it didn’t care what it consumed to ensure warmth never ceased. Charity gave, and it didn’t care what was gained or how as long as it was given.

‘’Don’t worry, I’m joking. I would never do something like that. Imagine what would happen to poor workers.’’ When institution lost money, owners were always last to suffer, or at least last to suffer as much as employees on bottom of food chain.

Vasilisa giggled.

‘’You almost had me there.’’ Really, what a ridiculous thought. Cinderella robbing a bank. ‘’ For moment I thought you were serious. It would be interesting sight, you know.’’

‘’Not that I couldn’t, of course. You see, trick how to successfully pull off a heist is in...’’’

* * *

 

‘’Are.’’ Slap on table, dull thud ringing across ears. Vladimir’s snarled lips, white teeth, small eyes looking at him. ‘’You.’’ Thud. ’’Aware.’’ Furious blink. ‘’Of.’’ Spit falling from mouth. ’’What.’’  Jaw opening and closing. ‘’You.’’ Red cheeks. ‘’Have.’’ Hand in air. ‘’Done.’’ Slow, ragged breathing.

Ivan sat and watched, eyes wide and shrunk, lip trembling. There were words, floating through his mind: _yes, I do, it isn’t our fault, we tried our best, I’m sorry_ , but none of them could find their way out.

‘’Answer me already, you idiot!’’

‘’Y-Yes..’’ Ivan whimpered out, eyes already stinging. Thud,  jaw open as if Vladimir was going to roar. fast as lighting he reached for Ivan and abruptly stopped when he was almost touching Ivan with his nose.

‘’You...You... How dare you? How dare you speak like that? Are you aware of scandal that you caused? Of problems you created for me? Of things people are saying? Writing?’’ Vladimir continued, staring at Ivan like eagle stares on mouse. His hot breath scraped Ivan’s face.

He was aware of it all, oh yes. While father and David Kablukov spent hours shouting at each other, all notions of civility gone, online news have already exploded with hundreds of articles, and more were going to come

_Brawl between heirs_

_Holder CEOs try to strike deal and join companies, their sons try to beat each other to death_

_Charity party interrupted by barbaric fight_

_Kablukov’s sons attack hosts_

_Nikolayevich’s sons assault guests_

_Son of Vladimir Nikolayevich accuses guest of being Forest monster in disguise_

_From insulting grades to beating hosts_

_Kablukov and Nikolayevich heirs duke it out over love drama_

_Nikolayevich and Kablukov’s sons turn charity party into wrestling match_

Oh, yes he read all that. He could already see which newspapers sided with them, which with Kablukovs, and which were neutral, that is, honest. He read comments, and arguments, and derision and vitriol that those people spewed behind screen and anonymity.

Only problem was that he couldn’t decide which was safer, no or yes. First made him stupid, second made him wicked, insolent creature.

‘’Do you, you ungrateful brat? Do you?!’’

‘’N..No...’’

‘’Of course you don’t, you idiot! Of course you don’t, you useless retard! You have ruined any chances of partnership we had! Kablukov may  sue us because of you! The news are on fire! Everybody is writing about this! It will be tomorrow on the daily news on tv! How many companies do you think will accept to be bought by me? How many other holders do you think will try to  become our partners? How do you expect me to bring food to table and care for you and your spoiled demands, you ungrateful child! Are you that dumb or do you just not care?’’

He couldn’t  stop tears. His cheeks grew red and lips wobbly, his nose stuffed and swollen as drops flooded from his eyes down his cheeks. Father’s words rang in Ivan’s ears, reverbrating through his skull, and something hot and suffocating burned in his throat as guilt attacked him like storm, his brain jumping and being grated on and on, and he just wanted to scratch his cheeks and  hit his forehead over something over and over.

‘’Stop crying, boy!’’ Ivan let out scared, hissy moan.

‘’Stop crying! Do you think it will fix anything. Time for that has long since passed!’’ Words flowed in and past him, tears continued.

‘’Stop crying, you aren’t child anymore!’’ He put fingers over his eyes, rubbed and scratched and hit skin over and over with his knuckles.

‘’Do you think that will help you, you  useless child? Do you think I will soften and have mercy on you?’’ Ivan let out wail and whispered _no, no, sorry, no, sorry, sorry_ over and over.

‘’ Stop behaving like some girl, you are supposed to be an adult, a man!’’ Ivan lowered his head until his elbows touched his knees.

‘’Are you aware what you are doing to me? Do you want to kill me? To send me to grave? I will take you with myself!’’ Ivan’s  fingers grasped and pulled his hair.

‘’Just stop crying! Can’t you even do that, you dumb cattle!’’  Vladimir lunged and grasped Ivan’s hair, pulling his head up. With heavy hand he slapped him and let Ivan fall off chair.

Vladimir breathed few times, in and out. His rage had cooled down, and he shuddered and looked so small, like flame slowly smothered and extinguished.

‘’You promised that you will be good. And you didn’t even try.’’ With that, he spat on ground, near Ivan’s hand, and turned on his heel.

Once he was out, Vasili ran from corner of room. Dimitri weakly, quietly called out his name, but Vasili didn’t answer.

Ivan looked up to Vasili, striding like vengeful giant, before he stopped next to Ivan, red and seething with hot rage.

‘’Father said that he will think  better about who will inherit companies after this night.’’ Vasili spoke, cold and quiet. And then, with his heavy army boots, he started kicking.

From corner, Dimitri shook his head and sighed.

* * *

 

_Ivan dreamed and flew. Past the skyscrapers, past cities, past small settlements, past highways. He flew with white rider on his side, and he was  white  cloud and dawn and fog and blue sky and shining day, tenderly but loyally  and strongly holding his palm with his strong hand that was hand and mist and breeze, avoiding his gaze whole way._

_And he flew past roads, past empty fields, past abandoned villages, past small trunks till he arrived to The Forest. Trees rose, covering half of Rustaya, stretching seemingly endlessly. Taller than mountains, wider then buildings, prouder then iron. They were old, and immortal, and magical, and mankind couldn’t conquer them._

_Red rider, neither woman nor man took him in their warm,  strong red arms, carrying  him like bride, gentle and secure, and they were  fire and light and noon  and radiation and bright, shining Sun, and Ivan blushed as he was held on chest/surface/ flame that didn’t scorch him, and  finally put him on ground._

_Black rider waited for him  in shadows of trees, and she was darkness and midnight and deep night and blue evening and  distant silver stars. She smiled gently and beckoned, and he stammered and followed. She led him through darkness (and darkness was her and she fed the darkness), through thick trees where no human technology or magic  worked, only courage and wisdom and kindness._

_Three enormous women waited for him, stirring the cauldron. They didn’t turn, and black rider bowed and departed, but Ivan felt they knew he was here and he felt safe._

_‘’They used to come here, tsareviches and princes on Quests to prove  they are worthy of throne.’’ Eldest spoke._

_‘’Now there are no more princes in these lands, but there are holders as commoners speak, politicians and economists like your father who dominate entire fields of industry, and in the end all is same.’’ The middle said._

_‘’We helped that change, we helped them throw down last tsars and establish new ways and fight off other kingdoms.’’ The youngest continued._

_And they told him story, familiar yet unlike any other, about revolution as it was, war and hopes and crimes and tears and Quests  until late hours, deep into dream._

* * *

 

Knocking woke him up. Well, he was already more than half-awake, but that got him up. he passed bare, white walls and single wardrobe while he rubbed his eyes. He opened door and found himself in face with an older butler.

‘’Good morning Mikhail.’’ Butler eyed him from feet to head, taking glance at  Ivan’s crumpled suit, messy hair and bruise on his right eye, but his face betrayed nothing.

‘’Good morning Mr. Ivan. Mr. Vladimir requests your presence in his workroom. He says to warn you to be fast.’’

‘’Thank you. Have a nice day.’’ Mikhail went away and Ivan closed door.

He would be late, but better late than untidy. It would take him time to comb hair, brush teeth and undress. He had limped to bed and fallen asleep without changing clothes. His already battered suit was messy  beyond belief. He would have to clean and iron it later-without father noticing, of course.

For second he looked in mirror, noting  colorful bruises springing across his back and ribs, like field of wildflowers. Vasili really had done his best yesterday.

Quickly putting on shirt, Ivan went to his father’s workroom, passing rows of ancestors.

His father came from ancient line, which had noble origins, and was likely related to some tsar. Past five generations were giants of pharmaceutical industry, and several previous  generations were powerful members of medical and banking guilds. Despite that, by Vladimir’s time they had fallen far. Vladimir inherited company after premature death of his father, when he wasn’t much older than Ivan. By his own hard work he had returned it to glory, and he managed to conquer all other  companies, after which he expanded and managed to become a holder. he was amazing, best at his job, beloved by his workers. Not that it was hard.

It was impossible to hate Vladimir, unless you were one of his rivals. He was honest, hard-working, smart man, who excelled  in his job but never forgot to treat his employees with proper respect and indeed, had helped many of them in their life. People enjoyed working for Vladimir. He was Ivan’s hero.

News always praised his father. Because of him, medicines and vehicles were much better and more accessible.  He knew name of everybody who worked at their house and everybody loved him. Ivan tried to be like that, but even if he was always polite as father taught him, and even if he got all names right,  people would just stare at him with funny look. he couldn’t figure out what he missed that made them smile when they talked with father-there was so much to choose from.

The last night... It was so bad. He wasn’t even thinking specifically of catastrophe that was party, even if it was source of all troubles. No, he was thinking of what happened later. Of things he did then.

 _I was so stupid. Crying like that... No wonder father lost temper._ It was rare. Even at his worst, Vladimir was so composed. To snap like that...

_He must have been very nervous. I have to figure out way to apologize to him._

Finally he arrived to his father’s workroom. After knocking and muffled enter, he came inside clean, immaculate room, all glass and steel. Vladimir sat at his desk, looking over papers, wearing his thin glasses.

‘’You are late.’’

‘’I-‘’

‘’Spare me excuses, please.  have no time for that.’’ Something fluttered in Ivan’s chest. Father must have received some very good news to be in such mood. He didn’t even lecture him.

‘’Where did you get that bruise?’’

‘’I-Vasili...’’

‘’Again? I really don’t know what you are doing at those boxing classes  if you can’t even take bit of rough-housing.  You should have already learned how to  match him. That’s why I sent you there. And what are you doing? Wasting money like that, it’s utter-‘’ Knock cut him off.

‘’Enter.’’ Plump,  smiling mousy maid in her late forties opened door and Vasili and Dimitri  stepped inside.

‘’Good morning, Mr. Vladimir.’’ With bright smile he answered.

‘’Good morning Mara, thank you for escorting them. Have a nice day.’’

‘’Thank you Mr.’’

‘’You are welcome.’’ After doors closed, he looked at all of his three sons, standing in line in front of him. Dimitri’s face was blank, while Vasili was frowning, holding his hands behind his back.

‘’First off all, your behavior previous night was unacceptable.  I don’t know what possessed you. However, Kablukov won’t sue us as we have plenty of evidence that his sons and that friend of theirs, ’’ Ivan saw Vasili scrape his palms with nails ‘’ started fight first. Not that it absolves you of guilt, ‘’he fixed  Ivan with intense glare, ‘’ but at least it saves us legal trouble. And you threw some good punches, even if those sons of his went out like card tower. _Ivan_ dealt with two, and he knocked out one by touching him with glass. Really, I can’t imagine how much David must be coddling them.’’ Vasili snickered and small smile crossed Dimitri’s features.

‘’Now, to get down to business. I will be curt. Your behavior convinced me that you are too young to properly inherit anything, least of all all our companies.’’ Vasili bleached. ‘’Even you, Vasili. In fact,  all three of you proved there isn’t much difference between your attitudes and maturity. So, in order for me to determine heir, you will have to prove yourself, like my grandfather did. You will have to go on the Quest?’’

 **‘’What?’’** Vasili exploded.

‘’Father you can’t be serious!’’ Dimitri spoke, his eyes wide and hands shaking.

‘’You must be joking!’’

‘’That is insane!’’

‘’Nobody has gone on Quest in decades!’’

‘’It is too dangerous!’’

‘’Silence! I am your father, and while you are under my roof, you will respect me and obey my rules, and not lash out like that at me. You two are in shaky position already, I expected something like that from Ivan, but thought you two were better behaved. It seems I was wrong.’’ Ivan’s brothers stood still as statues. Vladimir took breath and got up from his chair

‘’ You will travel to The Iron Forest and bring me a golden apple, scale of dragon and hair of Forest witch. You have a year to fulfill Quest, otherwise I will consider that you failed. You will depart in three days, so prepare well.’’ With those words he exited and left them alone.

Moment doors closed, Vasili charged at Ivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fourth chapter ended. Another cliffhanger. Next one will concern Vasili and Dimitri. Hope you enjoyed reading, that you will review and thanks again.  
> In case what happened with glass wasn't clear, Ivan's magic works in way that it sort of awakens items and turns back time for them, so glass for few seconds retained properties of stone (as glass is made from sand and sand comes from stone being grinded down in power by wind and water).


	5. The Dreaming Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers confront each other and Vasili and Dimitri reflect on future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is fifth chapter. In previous one, three brothers caused scandal by getting in brawl with Kablukov heirs on charity party, ruining any chances of partnership for their father. Enraged, he decided to send them on a Quest: who brings him golden apple, scale of dragon and hair of Forest witch will become his heir.
> 
> Warning: Contains physical and emotional abuse of younger sibling, some homophobia, mentions of sexts and generally fucked up views about gender, mental health and character strength Vladimir imparted on his older sons.
> 
> Arcanist Enclave is world-wide organizations of scientists dedicated to studying supernatural (aka magicians). technically they are neutral but most of them have ties to different countries. They are mostly responsible for technological development of world.
> 
> Thank you for reading, hopefully enjoy and please review.

‘’ You will travel to The Iron Forest and bring me a golden apple,  the scale of a dragon and the/a hair of the/a Forest Witch. You will have a year to fulfill the Quest, otherwise I will consider it failed. You depart in three days, so prepare well."

No. Impossible. Dad loved them. He cared about his sons. He would never allow that. He would never let anything stand in way of their inheritance, much less throw them into such danger.

The Forests were realms of nightmares, domains of madness, kingdoms of wild humanity escaped and abandoned to build their tsardoms and their cities, their bastions of wisdom and order. They rose above animals and conquered the world, researched the truth of  nature to unravel mysteries of universe, tamed the supernatural power coursing through some of them, mastering it as simply another branch of science, made it into a tool to further their own development.

And Forests defied that. They were wild, uncontrollable places, where no matter how strong and cunning  and influential you were, you couldn’t survive. Chaotic magic ran free and unbound, creatures of myths that should have never existed lived alongside beasts and birds, and only deranged, banished arcanists made it their home, so far removed from sanity that they couldn’t be called human. The Forests and their creatures hated humans, played with the lives of men by means of incomprehensible, senseless ‘’rules’’.

Why would dad send them there? To die? To go mad? To become slaves to some monster? And what was meaning of that? What worth would there be in that?

Hadn’t it been enough? Twenty nine years. Twenty nine years Vasili has been dilligently working towards earning what was already his. He was the eldest child, firstborn son, the heir.  The company, the money was already his by right of birth. And yet he had worked, studied, practiced and practiced until he was perfect. He did everything dad could have asked for but didn’t. He did far more than other heirs, who lazily lived off their parent’s allowances, more than even Dima (though, to be fair they were focused on entirely different areas), and certainly more than that brat Ivan.

 **Ivan**. Vasili’s blood boiled as he turned to look at the useless idiot whom  God assigned as his younger brother due to some grave sin. The idiot who got them all in this mess because he couldn’t properly stand up to bullies, nor keep his big fat mouth shut.

It was all his doing. He was the stupid one, the helpless retard. He had the lowest grades of them all, he didn’t know how to speak properly, he  didn’t know how to behave in public, he was too slow to get anything right and so fucking clumsy. He was nothing but a stupid, fucking monkey. This was all his fault.

Dad went out, without a word, without a smile or a goodbye. He ignored them, ignored him and Dima. He couldn’t allow that. Anger boiled and bubbled bright like magma under his skin as he run forwards and grabbed the collar of Ivan’s shirt.

‘’Are you happy now?’’ Vasili roared as Ivan squirmed like a small, pathetic worm.

‘’N-no..’’ Vasili threw him at wall. Ivan’s back curled and head hit the wall, and while it looked impressive he knew it wasn’t dangerous at all given Ivan didn’t even grunt. He did look like he was going to cry, but that was nothing new. He always cried, spoiled brat.

‘’Is this what you planned, you retard? Did you set this all up so you could steal what is mine?’’ Ivan opened mouth to speak-better said, to mumble incoherently, but Vasili slapped his face with a heavy palm.

‘’I would never..’’ Vasili brought his foot up, kicking Ivan hard in the gut. Ivan coughed.

‘’You wanted to embarrass me, to score points with dad, so you could take over? Well, it didn’t work, did it? Now you are going to fucking die, along with us!’’ He kicked Ivan again and again, while Ivan laid down and cried. As if that would help, as if that would solve anything. You couldn’t cry and hope for a miracle to happen, you had to go out in the real world and try to fix what you messed up.

‘’But you don’t have balls to go to the Forest, do you? No, you don’t. You will let us die and then force dad to recognize you as heir, won’t you?’’ His fingers grasped Ivan’s bangs and yanked his head up.

‘’Vasili, you are speaking nonsenses.’’ Dimitri’s cold voice rang out. ‘’Ivan would never do something like that. Nor would he even think of that.’’ Vaili smirked and yanked Ivan’s head backwards.

‘’You are right Dima. He isn’t smart enough for that. But we will still die because of him. He forced dad to do this. And how is he gonna fix this? How, you bitch?’’ And now he broke. Took him longer than usual- in high school, mere few years ago, he would have shattered at the first instance of bullying.

Tears and snot streamed down his pink, puffed face as Vasili watched. He didn’t sob, not yet but he would soon. With a snarl he threw his brother away, whose cheek landed on cold floor.  Vasili started stomping on his back over and over.

‘’What do you have to say, you bastard? Ahh? What?’’ Tears came to Vasili’s eyes as he slammed his foot between Ivan’s scapulas, dirty, black prints of his soles covering Ivan’s clothing. _Dad will chew him out so much for that_ , Vasili thought. Then he sat on Ivan, knocking out the breath out of him.

‘’Stop crying! Stop crying! Stop crying you piece of shit!’’ He punched Ivan in face as tears fell down Vasili’s cheeks, coming out of nowhere, and his brother finally started to moan and gasp, whining like pig. He tried to raise hands to defend his face from fists, but Vasili caught them by Ivan's wrists. With his other hand, he continued hitting the thin, pale thing  writhing beneath him.

 _Useless_ , his mind rang. _Utterly useless. And then he wonders why people used to beat him in the elementary school and take his money. He deserved it all. Father sent him to classes to help him, and did the bastard learn anything? No, he didn’t. He doesn’t even try._

‘’It is all your fault! Everything is your fault! You always fuck up things and then you just cry! As if that will help anything! And you never even try to be good, you don’t even try to be normal!’’ _You don’t have even to try so hard. Not like I._

‘’Are you happy now?’’ He screamed over Ivan’s sobs. ‘’ You ruined everything! Like you always do? Did you think dad will love you more than me? That you can steal it all because you couldn’t earn it like I did?’’ He punched Ivan several times more.

‘’And you had to pull Dima in this! Why? He didn’t even lay a finger on you! Ever! What would you have done to him if he did? You deserve to let him beat shit out of you!’’ He  released Ivan’s hands and slammed his fists over Ivan’s chest.

‘’Well congratulations! You succeeded! Now he hates me as much as he hates you!’’ Tears blurred his sight and he didn’t see something sharp and wild flash in Ivan’s blue eyes, a hungry beast lurking in the ocean. Ivan caught his fists and slammed his forehead into Vasili’s nose. Blood poured from it and Ivan threw Vasili off. He hit cold tiles, sharp, cold pain searing through his skull, making the world spin and go fuzzy and white around the edges.

‘’Ivan!’’ Dimitri shouted and ran towards Vasili, helping him get up. Vasili had to hold onto Dimitri’s shoulder to prevent himself from falling down again. It was as if he had drunk for hours and then gone on a rave. He gripped Dimitri’s shoulder as if it was lifeline.

He was shaking, but not from rage. His face was pale and his bloodshot eyes were wide and unfocused, his lips loosely hanging open, his limbs hanging like wet, limp noodles. There was no rage burning in him anymore, replaced by utter exhaustion.  Ivan’s  short attack was like a furious high pressure stream, a torrent of river water that had quenched and smothered his anger.

‘’You...You hit me. You hit me back.’’ Words were hollow and slow, voice soft and quiet, as if Vasili was somewhere far, far away, or recently awoken. _Am I still sleeping? This has to be dream._

Ivan was kneeling on the floor, groveling in front of his older brothers, breathing uneven and heavy, arms wrapped around his thin frame, his lips trembling and crying eyes  madly blinking.

‘’Why?’’ He asked finally. His shoulders were tense and his entire body was shaking, every muscle madly spasming, as if he was hit by lighting. His eyes twitched and he bit his lips as he tugged on his sleeves.

‘’Why are you like this What have I ever done to you??’’ Ivan spat out. Vasili’s tongue froze, Ivan’s words like bitter frost.

‘’Ivan, calm down.’’ Dimitri said, his voice hesitant and unsure. He sounded like somebody who had seen fundamental truths of his world shake and break down, who learnt each physical and moral law was lie.

‘’I tried to be good. I tried to be what father asked me to be. I tried to be like _you_.’’ He continued on, each word a dagger in the heart.’’ I never  harmed you in any way. I never picked fights, or went through your things, or talked bad stuff about you behind your back. I let you beat me because.. because that is only thing you do, and father wouldn’t listen, and because I thought you would be ok if you got rid of all that stress.

But you can’t say those things! You can’t say I ...I planned this or  that this is my fault, or whatever. You don’t get that. I planned nothing, and honestly, I have nothing to do with this. The Kablukovs came looking to start a fight. They brought that guy because of you, because they know you have some history or something, and wanted you to lose your temper. And you did! You got mad, and when they started the fight you jumped at the chance to throw the first punch..  They wanted to hit me, because I told that Alexei off, and thank you for protecting me, but you were the one who lost his temper and started the fight with them.  Not me.

And I would never harm you or Dimitri! Never! You can’t claim that I wanted you to go off into the Forest and die! Nobody could predict that father was going to react like that-and let me remind you, I will have to go there too. And I will be the one to die, because I’m not as strong as you or as smart as Dimitri.

And even if I survive, I won’t manage to win the Quest. Father will throw me out and disown me this time.  And you think he will follow through his promise? You are the eldest, you have been trained to inherit the company. If you don’t take it over, he would have to hand it over to somebody out of family, and you know he will never do that. Which is all right, because I don’t want your position. I wouldn’t know how to do that, and I don’t want to-I’m perfectly happy with what I have got.

And crying will fix nothing, but neither will you lashing out and screaming like a paranoid loon, so you should rein it in and  plan out what you are going to do. Or  simply choose where you will spend year hanging out, because you and Dimitri have finished your studies and father will give you time off from your jobs while I will lose an entire year of school! So everything will work out for you and I really don’t know what you are raging about!’’ He started crying again, and whispered next words. ‘’As if father would ever choose me over you. You have nothing to fear. Not from me, at least.’’

Vasili was silent and still as a statue. When Ivan finished, and words settled in Vasili’s  ears, life returned to his limbs and he ran. Ran through  the door and cold white corridors, ran to his rooms, avoiding servants as much as he could ( there were cameras, and they caught him, but the main security guard was less of a worker and more of an uncle he didn't have, who wouldn't alert Vladimir, so Vasili wasn’t worried). Finally he arrived to his room,locked the door and leaned on it, breathing deeply.

 _Why. Why, why, why_. His brother’s question rang in his ears like death sentence. ‘‘ _Why are you like this? What have I ever done to you?’‘_ And finally, the most horrible of them, _‘‘As if father would ever choose me over you. You have nothing to fear!’‘_ Oh, if only Ivan knew. He had it easy, he could afford not to pretend. He was clumsy, stupid, not much of a true man (which saved Vasili from closer inspection and suspicion several times). But at least  he wasn’t...

 _Scandalous. Shameful. Deviant. Disgusting. Unbelievable. Unacceptable_. Vladimir’s words echoed through his mind, a hundred stray comments and rants running through his head. Such casual distaste, pure belief that ‘’such people’’ as Vladimir called them (and him) were utterly repugnant at best and mistakes of the nature at worst. Vasili was always spared doubt, ignored-he loved sports, had the proper body shape, right personality, was popular with girls and and had a brilliant reputation as a dutiful son, a bright student, a promising young man, an intense party goer, a charming playboy. Vasili could pass and his father wouldn’t ever suspect- Vasili wasn’t the stereotype Vladimir took for the truth and none of his friends were out,  save for to a few trusted friends and relatives.

He hadn't married and sired a child, a son, the single crack in his perfect facade. The thought curdled his blood. It wasn’t even that the idea of sexual act that seemed so... weird and not-for-him made him uncomfortable (though that was certainly at play too). He would have to settle down and have an heir one day, but to live life in such a way, to lie each moment of day with all of his words and actions, to turn his life in theater....  He sank to the ground, his arms wrapped around his knees, sitting on the comfortable auburn carpet.

He couldn’t cheat on his wife. That would be plainly wrong and cruel, and too dangerous. But he wasn’t sure he could spend rest of his life pretending he was something he wasn’t. Flirting, catcalling, short dates... He could stand that, but to go on like that for decades?  No. He knew some people had beards, and open marriages, but he could never trust another person with something like that (too  much leverage, too great a risk, perfect opportunity for blackmailing)-and besides, marriage was something holy, something that was supposed to be special and exclusive. It wouldn’t even work if he was also her beard-he could hardly expect her to bear a child that way ( _dad would know if we went with artificial insemination_ ) so that was out of question too. One smartass friend of his suggested pegging, which earned him a lecture and a punch on the shoulder ( he sincerely apologized after that, so it was okay).

Vasili sighed. His father thought he wasn’t mature enough in that aspect, or too much of a romantic, or too fond of casual sex, though he was becoming annoyed. But before, Vasili was perfect, the golden boy who could do no (major) wrong, and Ivan was one on whose back  father’s  negativity fell.

But Ivan, no matter how alien it seemed, was right. Vasili was one who fucked up, whereas it was normal, expected even of Ivan. Father would turn his keen eyes on Vasili and Dimitri, and if he found out... God or gods or whatever was out there would have to help him out, and even a miracle wouldn’t be enough to save him.

With a sigh, Vasili got up and walked over to his warm bed, next to russet walls, taking care not to step on the clothes strewn on the floor or stumble over various balls. He threw himself onto the soft bed, with his back turned to the wall covered by posters of bands and sport clubs. Over his head was a shelf lined with trophies, medals and CDs.

From top of drawer next to bed he grabbed his phone where it hid alongside various books and magazines and all things necessary for personal hygiene. Typing password-Carthagine-3003- he checked his messages. There were loads from his friends, asking how he was or congratulating him on kicking Kablukov’s ass, but he only opened the top three, for which notifications were turned off  and the chats were hidden( father allowed him and Dimitri to have passwords, and didn’t check their phones, but it always paid to be careful). He quickly typed in the codes for them- _isto,**##,666*._

The first was from Lana Tihonovna, a friend from high school that had moved to another part of the country when he was twenty.  She was a very nice girl, but she wasn’t from a rich family and wasn’t interested in anything father approved of, so he couldn’t know Vasili was friends with her. Most likely she had sent a message so they could gush about  some new article from New History.

The second was from Sasha Vasiliev, with whom he bonded over their common enemy. And the third was from the bastard himself. CHEATER blared at him, the letters bright and bold, making his blood pressure rise just by looking at them. He opened Sasha’s first.  There were five messages, the last one having arrived just a minute ago.

_-Hey man_

_-Heard what happened_

_-Are you okay_

_-Not judging of course but why did you lose your temper like that_

_-You are usually real calm. Was that because they were picking at your lil bro?_

Vasili snorted. If he punched everybody who picked at Ivan, three quarters of their  elementary and high school would be left without whole nose.

**-It was Alexei.**

_-WHAAAT?_

_-What was he doing there?_

**-Kablukovs brought him with them.**

**-He started talking shit and I lost my temper.**

_-Well can’t blame you_

_-At least you didn’t kill him_

_-That’s something_

_-How are you feeling_

**-Like shit.**

_-Did he... you know?_

**-Out me?**

**-Not, though he made blatant implications.**

**-But if he did then I would him too and he wouldn’t risk that, so I’m not giving him any points.**

He wondered if the Kablukovs knew that Alexei was gay. He thought it wasn’t likely, but then, who would know? Maybe one of them was too. Or maybe they weren’t homophobes, but would gladly expose Vasili to create a scandal. Alexei himself used to threaten to out him more than once.

- **Luckily everybody took it that we were fighting over girl.**

_-HAHAHA_

_-Sorry, know this is serious moment and all, but mental image is so funny_

**-Hey, I used to get in fisticuffs over girls! And won!**

_-I know, i know_

_-What did he say?_

**-Usual. Called me puppy, talked about my size, said I can’t get any girls, asked me if I’m jealous, called me catcher....**

_-Wow. And nobody got it?_

_-Srry, but how hetero do you have to be not to get that?_

_-Aside from catcher/pitcher, that’s like Western slang._

**-Reputation helped I think.**

_-Of course it did_

_-Seriously, how are you feeling_

**-Angry. At him, me, Kablukovs...**

**-Bastard sent me message**

_-WHEN? WHAT?_

_-Have you opened it?_

**-About half hour ago.**

**-I haven’t.**

_-Good. Don’t-nothing good will come out of it_

_-...You are going to open it right now, aren’t you_

He did. There were two images, both captioned. The first was a dick pic- Alexei’s enormous, erect member, thick and long, captioned with ‘’want some, puppy?’’.   For all his irritation, something stirred in his stomach. But second image froze his blood.

It was Vasili himself, from three years ago, naked as newborn, expression needy, hungry and desperate, legs spread as much as he could manage. The caption read ‘’remember this? there are more left.  is there a new guy you're whoring yourself to . perhaps I should show him what he’s bought.’’ Kiss smiley.

Vasili’s hands were shaking, his fingers gripping the phone tightly, his teeth gritting together, sweat falling down. Before he did something dumb he switched back to Sasha.

_-Hey man_

_-Vasili_

_-What happened_

_-What did bastard do now_

_-You haven’t answered have you_

_-Please tell me you didn’t._

**-I didn’t.**

_-If you did I will kill you_

_-Oh good._

_-What did he send_

Vasili bit his lip and  scratched his palm. He would prefer not to answer, but this was Sasha, he owed him that much, and dad always said that if you aren’t comfortable with something you gotta do it as much as possible to get over it.

**-He sent me dick pic.**

**-And one of my nudes.**

**-Lewder ones.**

**-I will ignore him.**

_-That son of bitch!!_

_-How does goddamn  motherfucker dare..._

_-That’s smart, don’t give him anything to grasp_

_-That fucker..._

_-Did he send a kiss_

_-Or some comment_

_-Suggestive captions._

_-And of course he did send kiss._

_-Of course_

_-He always sent that to me when he wanted us to make up or to annoy me_

**-I sent him so many nudes...**

**-Gods what was I thinking?**

_-Oh_

_-Sorry man_

_-I know this is hard on you_

_-Should have stopped long ago_

**-Not your fault.**

**-He  hurt you too.**

**-You have as much right as me to complain.**

_-Yeah  but we were in relationship only for eleven months, you were together seven years_

_-And you knew him from back when you were tiny fifteen year old baby_

_-He introduced  you and helped you figure stuff and all that_

_-He was your first everything_

_-Oh god_

_-I really suck at being supportive_

_-Worst friend ever_

_-So sorry_

**-I told you it’s okay.**

**-So stop apologizing or I’ll punch your teeth out.**

**-Hell you sound like Ivan.**

_-HAHAHA_

_-Now you are just mean_

_-But seriously if you need me to shut up I will_

**-You have no idea how much trash talking him  helps me, go on.**

**-I need to remember how much of bastard he was.**

**-So I won’t repeat mistake.**

**-Again.**

_-Okay guess what coincidence_

_-Yesterday I met four of his former boyfriends_

_-Four_

**-You are fucking with me**

**-No way**

**-We should form club or something**

_-One knew me, was angry at me_

_-Not my fault Alexei is bastard but I understand why he wouldn’t want to talk with me_

_-Wants to forget son of bitch and all that has to do with him_

_-Other is still too hurt and hopes they will make up_

_-Poor soul but what we can do_

_\- Other two are all up for shitting on him_

_-We can go to that  three day concert that is arriving in August_

_-Heard they will  have lots of rock and heavy metal_

_-One of them is son of organizer, can get us tickets_

_-Other is band member, punker_

**-Punker?**

**-Never listened much to them but could be interesting.**

Father didn’t approve of punk music. Too androgynous for his taste. Vasili agreed.  Boys had to look like men and girls had to look like women. But music was very nice ~~(and long hair looked so pretty on a guy)~~ and great for venting. He wanted to type yes... And then remembered that by August he would likely be dead.  There was no way father would buy him being in capitol, so far away from the Forests and Vasili didn’t want to sneak and worry about being accidentally spotted. Better to just go and get done with the whole dying thing.

But Sasha didn’t need to know that.

_-Sorry, can’t._

_-Family business, will be out of town for whole year._

**-Seriously**

**-Dad won’t let you stay that much**

As if. Vladimir wouldn’t budge once he set his mind on something, nor would he let Vasili go somewhere with friends who were complete strangers, of whom he never heard before. He would have to meet them first, or Vasili would have to talk a lot about them (but not too much, so Vladimir wouldn’t get suspicious) and then Vladimir would do a background check.

**-Nope.**

**-Too serious.**

_-Damn_

_-Pity, you would like Marko and Goran_

_-You are gonna call, right_

_-I will skewer you alive if you don’t_

Tears built up in Vasili’s eyes. he dead didn’t call, nor could you use technology in the Forests. But he couldn’t tell that Sasha. No, he couldn’t harm him like that.

**-Of course I will, chill little.**

**-I have to nap now, got really early today.**

**-Hear from you later.**

_-See you later_

_-Sleep nice, princess_

**-Thanks.**

**-And don’t call me that, I will blow out your brain.**

_-:):) Want to see you try_

Vasili shook his head. Sasha was nice, but he couldn’t last one whole conversation without annoying somebody. Being so nice was  exhausting to him, which was one of reasons he and Vasili got so well along. Along with same taste in music, sports clubs and love for parties.

They didn’t even talk that much about Alexei. They haven’t even mentioned him in a year and a half. He was in the past, an unfortunate event that they left behind when they became friends and helped each other get over him. And if Vasili still kept his gifts and the photos they took on dates along with the history books and old coins he kept hidden beneath his old toys in a big box behind his wardrobe, well that was nobody’s business but his own.

His mind turned back to the Quest. He hadn't considered the tasks before, but now... If he wanted to succeed and survive he would need to research everything. Libraries, internet, the history institute, maybe contact an arcanist.

Finding a golden apple would be easiest. Legends said that diamonds and riches grew on trees in the Forest. He would need to get into the Forest, climb up a tree that wasn’t guarded by some beast and get out. Maybe he could even try to travel to the old capitol of Rustaya, the one that was abandoned when a rogue witch assassinated tsar Vasili in 2876 ( He knew it was only a coincidence, that it was common for fathers to name three sons Vasili, Dimitri and Ivan, that it was tradition, but he still shivered).

Tsar Vyslav had had a tree of golden apples, and his eldest son had won the throne by going on a Quest and retrieving the Firebird which was stealing the golden apples. After the witch destroyed the palace and created a pillar of flame, the city was abandoned, but it was possible the apples survived. That would bode well for him, unless he insulted some archwitch ( he himself was of the theory that the witch was Ruttrinyan seeking revenge for the annexation of 2849, but you never knew).

Finding a dragon scale would be harder. Dragons were solitary, gigantic magical creatures whose powers ranged from breathing fire to reflecting magic. Zmei, the dragons native to Rustaya and similar lands were capable of controlling weather, sometimes had multiple heads and according to some legends, were sentient and could assume human form. He didn’t know much more-history was concerned with facts, not the rules of magic. Dragons mattered to history only for their acts that influenced human life-and the last such act happened in 2638 when dragon assisted thrice-tenth kingdom in defending itself from Seriah the Bloodborne.

If the dragon was a beastlike creature, then Vasili would need to figure out some way to get the scale off without endangering himself-no human could defend themselves from dragon, not without a dozen arcanists and a SWAT team at least, and both would be useless in Forest even if he managed to find them. Perhaps, if dragons changed skin like snakes, he could pick up an abandoned hide... If they were sentient, though, Vasili could negotiate-once he figured out what the dragon wanted and if it could trusted. Legends weren’t Vasili’s strong suit, but mostly they wanted gold, food and maidens –all dragons of legends were males, and said to be handsome and amazing, if particularly demanding lovers. The legends struck a cord within Vasili, but he doubted his luck... and falling in love with a monster was sinful.

The hair of the Forest witch. Forest magicians were mainly rogues, criminals and madmen. They lived in the Forest for so long that they stopped being human-if they didn’t have blood of monsters themselves in their veins. Their magic worked in Forests either because of their heritage or because deals struck with demons. Such belief was prevalent before the formation of the Arcanist Enclave in 1259, and erupted again during the mass witch hunts of 1618, 2034 and 2897. It was a great tragedy, but beliefs were based in facts-some magicians really negotiated with spirits, demons and other unclean forces, and mostly those were Forest magicians, mad but cunning. Sometimes they entered bargains with men, but more often that not they cheated and ate, or enslaved humans. And then there was...

Her. Vasili gulped, and his room seemed so dark and cold despite open windows and the sunny morning. The Great One, Little Grandmother, The Iron Witch.  His blood curdled and he shuddered thinking of her, tears forming in his eyes and stomach feeling as if it was filled with stones ( he was grateful beyond belief that his bladder was empty). Some believed she was dead, but it was a foolish thought. She had lived before first men set foot on Rustayan soil. She had seen empires rise and fall and played part in both. She saved countries and consumed children. She saw ice cover world and retreat and she would see it do so again. when she had aided the revolution by raising the dead as soldiers, sending armies of beasts pouring from the Forest and called down frost and fire from the skies onto the tsarist palace. A hundred and twenty years have passed since anybody saw her, and some thought her dead, but what were a few measly centuries to a witch who conquered death and lived for tens of thousands of years. If he happened upon her, he would be consumed and rent apart...

But then what were chances. Strong men had gone into the Forest before and walked out. His great- grandfather  had done so too. Vasili would go, and win his father’s challenge, and prove his worth again.

But before that, he could visit Lana. He opened the chat. There were two messages-one was a link for a conference that would be held in November in her town, dedicated to the Roman conquest of the Brutonnian Islands and the revival of druidic cults. The second was a message asking him how he was feeling.

**-Awesome, thanks for asking.**

**-That conference sounds amazing, and guess what?**

**-I will be able to come.**

**-And you need to hear about new coin I found in...**

* * *

 

_Fire. Fire everywhere, he can’t escape, fire won’t let him, and woman walks to him-one moment a pale empress in teal finery, another moment a monstrous statue of flame and magma. She raises her hand and..._

_‘’Hello Vasili.’’ He is in his favourite museum and in front of him is his own face, but marred by a horrible burn scar. Next moment it becomes  Yegor, his teammate and best friend, and then it is Lana, but younger, looking the same as the day she introduced him to her collection of coins, and then it is his mother, shining bright like the day she left them all  behind because of that brat, and then it is pure shadow with only scar that makes him recoil, bare teeth and raise hands. He knows he has never seen it before, and yet it is somehow intristically familiar to him._

_‘’It isn’t nice to behave so, you know. You may think  the scar is ugly, but you have no right to act like that. It is extremely rude and demeaning.’’ It is his face and Yegor’s voice, but he doesn’t even register that as strange, only afraid of scar._

_‘’Oh yeah? Who are you to tell me? Who gave you that authority?’’ The creature nods and hums, and the voice is his mother’s laughing, cheery voice._

_‘’ Nobody needs to give you authority to tell people when they are rude and inconsiderate. But if you want to know, I have authority as conscience.’’_

_‘’My conscience?’’_

_‘’Yes. Among others- all humans have me, just depends if they choose to listen. I speak to them in dreams, but you don’t remember encounters, just lessons if they stick. Tonight, I hope we will talk about your anger and how you manage it. Please sit.’’_

_And he does, unable to argue, sits on cushions as conscience speaks._

* * *

 

‘’What did you do?’’ Dimitri coldly asked Ivan. Ivan was crying and shaking on floor, and Dimitri supposed it wasn’t nice, but he couldn’t wait for him to finish. And the time for niceness has passed.

‘’What... What did _I_ do?’’ Ivan asked, looking as if somebody had shot him. Dimitri sighed. He didn’t involve himself  in conflicts between his brothers, and so neither side was hurt, but there were lines that weren’t meant to be crossed.

‘’ Yes, you. Vasili could have broken his neck. Have you seen how he looked? Have you thought about what would happen once he broke his skull on those tiles?’’ Ivan froze, and his pink face became pale and pearly, his eyes widening as he got it.

‘’And that isn’t worst of it. He **cried** , Ivan. _He_ cried. Do you get how much you hurt him?’’ Ivan was the crybaby. He always broke down in waterfallls once things got too hard and hot to handle. But Vasili... In all of his life, he could remember one time when Vasili cried.

_When she left us._

He couldn’t imagine how bad he took father and Ivan’s words. What was going through his head. He didn’t even try to hit  Ivan back-never mind that he couldn’t even properly stand. He just ran away.

‘’I-‘’ Tears built in Ivan’s eyes.

‘’You are selfish, Ivan. Everything is always revolving around you.’’  When you looked better, all the fights in the family were because of Ivan.’’ Vasili wasn’t doing anything unusual, and he was feeling terribly-do you get it, Ivan? He did everything to become heir even if he didn’t have to,’’ _and because dad gave me no chance_ ‘’ and grew up preparing for that day, and now? Best case, he will lose everything. He will be crushed. Worst case he will die. We will all die. Because of you. Me and Vasili will go to the Forest while you will be on a road trip, and what do you think will happen to us?’’

‘’i-I...’’ Dimitri frowned.

‘’When you calm down, please be rational and think about that. And  think what will happen when dad sees all that blood.’’ So he left, taking calm strides, leaving Ivan to clean the blood from the floor. He marched through corridors, perfect poker face on his features.

Once he was in his room, all brown and grey, he slammed door shut and locked it. He took  a deep breath, calmed down, counted to ten... And then he shouted.

It was a deep, echoing, wild roar, filled to the brim with frustration and anger. He ran to the corner of his room and started hitting the punching bag, each hit precise and strong, sweat rippling off him.

Of course. Of course! t was always the two of them, Vasili and Ivan, making a mess and dragging him into it. No matter how they behaved, they were always the focus of everything.

Vasili, heir, perfect golden boy, winner of so many sport competitions, who had dozens of girls trailing after him but couldn’t keep a single one to settle down with, Vasili who got into fights that had to be kept out of the public’s eye.

Ivan, crying youngest son, spoiled beyond belief, always making a mess of everything because he couldn’t accept that the world wouldn’t conform to his imagination, who got bullied and had bad grades and understood nothing and couldn’t even act good enough to please father.

And there was Dimitri, the spare, the calm one, the smart one who had to manage the two of them. It didn’t matter how high his grades were, it didn’t matter how proper he was,  how calm, how many trophies he won. He was simply okay, and father would never give him chance to prove himself.

If he couldn’t even go to study what he wanted, if he couldn’t become a physicist, if he couldn’t act his age, if he couldn’t be wild and unrestrained then the least father could do was to give him chance to prove that he was a better choice for heir than Vasili.

But then... father did give him chance. He was angry at Vasili, but he ignored Dimitri. Dimitri received none of the scorn, but he had chance to gain everything if he fulfilled the Quest. That would be better for them all, actually- the companies would prosper, Vasili would get some important position that would satisfy him and Ivan would be put aside and given a chance to escape public hated and be alone forever ( and some mental help, if it could be managed)

But first he would have to prepare well. He sat at his desk and went on Internet. Research, analysis , planning and deduction. No way would he risk going to the Forest. It was too dangerous, and besides magic wasn’t as common as most claimed. Dragons surely went extinct for example, and Forest witches were just stories. Vasili would realize that too- and if he didn’t, Dimitri would beat sense into him. There was no way he would lose a brother to father’s insane ideas. As for Ivan... Well, he was a nice kid, but he had neither the guts nor brains to manage the Forest, and he would realize that too.

The solution was simple-he would pay some arcanist to fabricate an apple and scale, then confirm that the random hair he would bring father belonged to a Forest witch. Even Vladimir would accept the word of a member of the Arcanist Enclave. It would be expensive, but he was sure he had enough money hidden in the small cupboard in his wardrobe where he hid his books on astrophysics.

After a few hours spent surfing the net, content Dimitri sat on the bed, back turned to wall, shelf with trophies and medals and car models above him as he took his phone (password saturn-quark) and scrolled through his messages, answering concerned questions of his friends.

* * *

 

_They fly among  stars, dancing on edges of black holes, dipping down to touch asteroids, swimming on surface of Sun, he and creature he had never seen before but somehow recognizes. It looks like him, and his first physics professor, and first girl he had crush on (and whom father forbid him from dating), and beautiful, happy, golden mother, and shapeless shadow, all  with horrible red scars on face._

_‘’It is beautiful, isn’t it? There is very nice observatory in Pieterov that you can visit.  It’s owner recently published dissertation on nature of gravitation.’’ Voices speak, fluidly changing from one to other. He nods, watching it, wary yet interested._

_‘’Sometimes, not doing anything doesn’t mean being neutral, not when one side is enforcing violence. Sometimes, things aren’t okay simply because that is how it is done. Sometimes people aren’t what we take them to be.’’ And it speaks and speaks, right to his heart._

* * *

 

Ivan drags himself to his bed, closing the door and hoping father won’t come to check on him. He swallows bitter guilt, because he knows father cares and only wants what is best for him, knows he is a spoiled, ungrateful son, but he is tired and his whole body is aching and Dimitri already gave him a lesson and he just wants some quiet.

He lays down on his cold, itchy bed, and turns his head to white walls bare of shelves and images, perfect whiteness spoiled only by the grey bed and wardrobe, and curls like a kitten and sobs

* * *

 

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I will  make up for everything...._

_He stands in between his father’s shining, office office and dark, deep Forest.  He tries to stay in painful, freezing light, but Forest beckons him.  He watches scarred  shadow, which is his father and Dimitri, blurred image of blonde woman who was lost because of him and empress of ash and glass and sobs in front of her, for he has never seen her but something deep within him resonates with her, an old friend and reflection of himself._

_‘’I’m sorry. I’m a bad son, a horrible brother, I’m a spoiled fool and a idiot and a retard, I messed up everything, just give me chance to repent, I will fix everything, please I don’t want to lose them because of my mistakes, I’m a bastard and  an idiot, I’m so sorry, please let me fix everything...’’ Woman steps and hugs him, warm and soft and dark, hugs him like nobody has ever before._

_‘’I’m horrible, I’m a bastard, I’m a fool, I messed up everything, it  is all my fault  and and...’’ She strokes his hair and lets his tears roll down and become one with her dress of grey sea._

_‘’Lies.’’ She whispers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vasili was born in year of 3003.
> 
> Isto comes from история ( read istoriya) which means history.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hopefully enjoy and please review!
> 
> For beginning of Vasili's dream read second chapter of Tales Never end for full context. Basically,Vasili killed Ivan in previous life and Baba Yaga sent Vasilisa to take him out.
> 
> Also, Cinderella is literally conscience of every human ever. Jimminy Cricket's got nothing on her. Obviously she is very overworked and not many listen to her. And yes, every human dreams of meeting her and talking with her, but nobody remembers and some don't even remember what she told them. She takes on forms people she speaks with considers authority and/or very dear to them. Scar always remains though.


	6. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brothers depart and Ivan finds himself in The Forest, and meets peculiar snake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is sixth chapter, named after another of Propp's functions. Don't expect updates next week as I will be off in mountains without Internet (and I'm not sure for after that).  
> Beginning of chapter has gaslighting, so beware if it upsets you. I tried to model it after some things I read and experienced but I don't know if I was successful.  
> Made more aesthetics, for Anya ( Elena the Beautiful/Marya Morevna/Vasilisa the Wise) and Baba Yaga.  
> https://grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales.tumblr.com/post/163521204460/the-woman-walked-walked-in-her-office-like#notes-Anya  
> https://grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales.tumblr.com/post/163555869890/see-thing-is-that-their-kind-forgets-everything#notes-Baba Yaga  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, please review.

_It is twilight. He can’t see anything above branches, this deep,  but in Forest it is always twilight. It’s the best time for such things, time in-between,  halfling time, both and neither but steering closer to dark and gloom._

_The tsarevich sleeps on grass. It is familiar grass, grass that remembers and loves him. He slept there, century after century, form after form, so many bodies and shapes and ways same path is walked over and over.  He sleeps but sees all._

_Choda-Yoda, with his three or seven or nine or twelve or twenty seven heads, each capable of swallowing moon, keeps guard above his head. Tsar of Snakes is on right, and the Cat is on left. Fox is curled on his feet, and trees and stars sing old song that makes his lips curl in smile even in dream within dream._

**_‘’Seven kings, seven queens_ **

**_Seven crowns of gold, seven crowns of silver_ **

**_Seven dark riders on seven pale horses, seven gray riders on seven rotten horses_ **

**_Seven riders of bone and silk, seven riders of rot and iron_ **

**_Seven riders of Auntie Plague, seven cloaks of pestilence_ **

**_Seven riders of Lord War, seven whips of blood_ **

**_Thrice seven kingdoms fallen, lost to conqueror_ **

**_Twice seven kings and queens  lost to Forest, lost to grief_ **

**_Seven heirs left to live, rest lost for  forever_ **

**_Seven kings, seven queens ate witch’s apple tasted vengeance_ **

**_Seven kings, seven queens gave up their dearest_ **

**_Seven kings, seven queens left void as their enemy is devoured_ **

**_Seven kings, seven queens neither live nor die_ **

**_Seven kings, seven queens servants forever more.’’_ **

* * *

 

The alarm boomed. It’s sound was like doom of church bell, and Ivan rose from sleep as ringing noise stung through his mind. With one hand he managed to slam down the clock, ending uncomfortable noise.

He was left laying in his bed, sprawled across messy, sweat-stained sheets and blanket and too many layers covering him. It was hot but so soft, making his skin flush heat and feel utter relieve from contact with material.

 It took several minutes for drowsiness and sleepy haze to be gone, for his numb  limbs to be revived. Memories and ache flowed through him, as he slowly got up and sat straight in his bed, his left leg curled and right one put over it, hands crossed.

_‘’I was such a bastard yesterday.’’_ He thought. It was horrible. He had been angry, and scared, and confused but... But he was wrong. It was all his fault. Everything.

He thought...Vasili was one who lost his temper with that guy but... But they came for Ivan, and Ivan was one who pissed him off with his stupid, stupid comments because moments wolves were mentioned his mind went off spouting useless facts... And they were already ready to beath him when Vasili joined. And he didn’t have to, he could have let them beat Ivan. So he did him favor. And Ivan...

Dimitri was right. He was just thinking about himself. It couldn’t go on like that. Being selfish just hurt people and brought nothing good to you in the end. Nobody liked selfish friends or family. And screaming like that... He was questioning father, contradicting him. That wasn’t good. Father was always right and Ivan had to know his place.

There was knock on his  door and he got up, walking as his ribs ached. He could still feel  echoes of hits in his stomach, phantom pain rippling through flesh.

He opened door, finding himself face to face with a short, stout grey haired woman by name of Anna. He immediately said good morning.

‘’Your father requested your presence in his work room, young sir. He said that you have to be fast.’’ She took look over his torso, pale skin utterly covered by bruises and dried blood. ‘’Though I suggest you dress yourself first.’’

‘’Thanks. Have a good day!’’ He said with wide smile and closed door after she walked off. Then he went to wardrobe, taking clean jeans and grey shirt of long sleeves, material itchy and scrawling. His dirty, bloodied clothes were thrown in corner of wardrobe.

He walked to his father’s workroom as fast as possible without running, and knocked thrice before getting permission to enter. Vladimir sat in his chair, sun shining above him as he worked over documents with keen, sharp eyes of eagle.

‘’Ah, Ivan. What are you doing here?’’ Vladimir asked. Ivan blinked, his mouth formed in small o.

‘’You...You asked for me to...’’

‘’I didn’t speak to you at all since previous day.’’ Right. Father didn’t come over, he had to be specific. _You will get nowhere in your field-or any field for that matter-if your words aren’t exact._

‘’You sent maid.. Anna to tell me..’’

‘’I didn’t send anybody. Don’t draw in honest workers in your games. Sit.’’  Ivan sat down, hands held on lap. _This again_. Sometimes it seemed to him that he and father lived in different worlds, because their memories were so different. He knew father sent for him, but... _Father is always right. If he says that didn’t happen, it didn’t._

‘’You are here because of Quest, right?’’

‘’I...’’

‘’I will not let you out of it. You will go on Quest, same as your brothers. I already warned you about coming to beg for this.’’ Ivan didn’t remember that, but  previous two days were very stressful, and father was always right, so he supposed he had forgotten. No, he **had** forgotten.

‘’Sorry.’’ He whispered.

‘’I realize that after party all of us were distressed.  However, your actions were most  immature. Such behavior cannot be tolerated.’’ Ivan didn’t bother to ask what actions. It could be crying It could be that  he has done something else and forgot that too.

‘’You have today and tomorrow to prepare. On third day you will depart. And don’t you dare waste year in enjoying sights. You will go to the Forest.’’

‘’Yes father.’’’

‘’Any questions?’’

‘’Father.... I know I haven’t been good as I promised to, and so I don’t deserve taking motorcycle back as you told me...’’

‘’I never said anything about giving you back motorcycle. But you are right. You don’t deserve it.’’

‘’Can I.... Can I take it for traveling? It will be easier than going by bus or similar....And I won’t waste any money....’’

‘’Hmmm.’’ Vladimir continued shuffling his papers. ’’I will allow that this time.’’

‘’Thank you Father!’’ Ivan said with big smile on his face.

‘’Yes, yes, now leave me work.’’ Vladimir waved his hand. Ivan got up and said goodbye. When he reached hand to open doors, his father rang bell on his desk and Ivan returned.

‘’Oh, and I forgot to tell you something.’’ Vladimir said, turning to look towards camera.’’ You didn’t properly clean floor last night.’’

* * *

 

Days went by without anybody noticing. Ivan spent most of time in his room, looking over maps and researching old texts over Internet.  There is not much of studies on that topic, and too many rumors, so he turns to fairy tales. There are rules there, he realizes: Don’t stray off path, be kind to animals, don’t steal, beware darkness,  don’t demand for what isn’t your right.

Meals are tense, nobody speaks, Dimitri and Vasili are on their phones, Dimitri exchanging information from different sources and Vasili no doubt flirting with some gorgeous girl. Two of them go out with their friends, making goodbyes and what not. 

Ivan doesn’t have that to distract himself, so he can spend all that  time in his room and prepare. Father comes each day to check through his things just as he said he would do (Ivan doesn’t remember hearing that, but that is nothing new).

‘’Hmmm. I suppose you are ready.’’ Vladimir says and puts Ivan’s bag down on bed.

‘’Well, this is goodbye.’’

‘’What?’’ They are leaving in two hours. Why would they say goodbye now?

‘’Something came up. I have to go to company. I will not be here to watch you three leave. I will get back home in four days.’’

‘’Oh. I’m sorry.’’

‘’Mh, mhm. See you in year.’’ He taps Ivan on shoulder and exits. Ivan knows better than to reach for hug, but he can’t keep smile off his face. _See you in year_. Father believes in him! Something warm and light flutters in Ivan’s chest. It almost makes him feel guilty for what he will do next.

Almost. He watches through window, and once father’s car leaves, he drags wardrobe to doors, barring entry. Outline  on wall is pale and free of dust. Ivan’s room is old one, in older part of house, made of bricks.  He kneels and pulls out three bricks from particular spot.

There is hole in thick wall, big and deep enough to hide thin box. He likes to imagine  that hole was purposely made, so that inhabitant of room could hide their things. letters, pictures, presents from forbidden lover? Perhaps one of his ancestors held something there?

Box is small, brown thing made of cardboard, utterly ordinary. It is probably most worthless thing in house. And yet it is more precious to him than anything else...

Small clay and wooden statues he made. Carving knife. Dried flowers  and grass. Butterfly wings he found on window one day. Leather bracelet lost by boy in whom he walked years ago, which he stupidly took to return in case her ever meets guy again. Small, worthless things, things that would make father angry if he ever saw them, and yet Ivan can’t shake off feeling that they bring him look.

As father made his last inspection, Ivan carefully tucks  box in his bag. Putting bricks back and returning wardrobe to its place, he sits on bed and waits for hours to pass.

Vasili and Dimitri stand next to cars-whether father allowed them to take those or somehow they arranged to drive one he doesn’t know- silent, looking into sky, bags over shoulders. they are frowning, because they haven’t been able to convince father to abandon mad idea. Even their friends are silent, crowd gathered to see them off. Some of staff is there-head maid and security guard for Vasili, one butler and cook for Dimitri. Ivan stands next to his motorcycle, alone.

‘’Well, that’s it, I guess...’’He says. His brothers don’t answer, don’t reach out to shake his hand, and several of their friends glare at him. Slowly, he puts it down and sits on motorcycle, putting helmet on.

‘’Okay then. See you in year. Good luck-not that you need it.’’ And he drives off, waving as long as he can see them.

None wave back. And he drives on and on.

* * *

 

‘’Well, he finally departed. But it would take him at least month to get here even if he was going in right direction, and not to other side of  tsardom .’’ Vasilisa says, observing Ivan in pool of magma. Her grandmothers stand, taller than vulcanoes that surround them, their noses parting smoky clouds, their skins rough as stone and dark gray as ash,  their dresses orange and red, their wrists adorned with ore veins and obsidian.

‘’It will not take that long.’’ Eldest sister –aspect says.

‘’I suppose you have plan to accomplish that.’’ Vasilisa says-doesn’t ask, she wasted her questions long ago.

‘’ We will it and he’s there.’’ Youngest sister-aspect grumbles.

‘’Bit of cutting and stitching, bending space but not time and he is there, in the Forest.’’ Middle sister-aspect explains, smirking from ear to ear-literally.

‘’It seems  too early for him to face the Forest.  He has yet to prepare to properly walk it.’’

‘’ He won’t experience it fully, just  get some guidance. Few adventures to see what he is thrown into.’’ Eldest sister-aspect speaks.

‘’Still, the Story  could throw something at him that he wouldn’t be able to deal with.’’

‘’It won’t, it has been been hedged  in.  Cinderella had talk with it before she left for Dul Germaunth.’’ Middle sister-aspect scowls.

‘’Making treaties between humans and awakened ‘’old’’ gods. Why just not let them  destroy fool’s civilization?’’ Youngest sister-aspect groans.

Few beings could set Story straight, or command it once it got ideas. Baba Yaga easily could, but they were rarely up for that task-not enough motivation to bother. Vasilisa knew of no true character, not even Scherezade herself who could manipulate the Story like Cinderella. But then, Cinderella was the first of them all, the one where Story was born, more idea  and pattern than character. Even in distant, dead universes dark things that devoured souls in places of extinguished stars had stories about mistreated stepdaughters.

‘’I think I  can guess what Ivan will find.’’ Vasilisa says as she watches Baba Yaga’s will bend reality.

* * *

 

He rode, as fast as he was allowed to, as fast as he could without  losing his bag. Wind whipped him, and helmet blocked sounds of engine, dark glass casting world around him in muted shadow. He rode with skill and care, stopping at each red light, following each sign, not endangering anybody.

He was clumsy, and stupid, and unobservant, but he was good driver. When he drove, he felt alive.

Blood rushed through his veins as he followed roads, as he left grand city and passed small towns and smaller villages, as soon asphalt became dirt and he was plowing between dry fields. Time and space became meaningless as he drove.

And finally he arrived. Beyond civilization, beyond homes and humans, in middle of empty field near Rustaya’s borders the Forest appeared. Great tress, tall as mountains grew, thick and dark, rising from low grass, their bark ancient and wrinkled, their leaves many and ever-green.

He stopped and took off helmet. This was it. Once he went inside, there was no return. Once he set his feet on thin path between trees, the Quest would truly start. Witches and dragons and magic, oh yes he would have to face them. You couldn’t turn your back to things like that.

Perhaps he could leave. Why bother? Why die for something he  will suck at?  Even if he survives, what are chances of _him_ winning? Better give up and admit defeat and... And Story wraps itself around The Tsarevich, The Quester, It’s Hero, promised Third Son, Downtrodden child, and gently it ruffles his memories and speaks to his heart.

Vasili’s fists and  hitting him over and over. Dimitri’s scatching words. Dream of father, looking at him, smile wide and proud.

He steps on other side and he _lives_. It isn’t grand change,  more like slight breeze going through stale, dusty room, but he feels it in his bone. World is darker, quieter, but warmer and softer, and  he can feel something  small and  giggling and golden taking root in his mind.  He isn’t alone, he knows that just as he knows he needs to breathe, information seared burning within his brain as he stands on old road between  leaves and grass of many colors-the trees are alive, and they are judging him. And yet he is comfortable-it is not pricking, prodding judging of socialites at father’s parties but confused, wary judging of stranger that showed up at your front doors. So he speaks to them, giant and small (in comparison) ones

‘’Um, high. Sorry for walking in like that.’’ He says. he needs to make good first impression. ‘’I’m Ivan, nice to meet you. This is very beautiful place and you are all so grand!’’ _I’m not being good enough with words._

_But then, how do rules of politeness work with trees?_

‘’I’m sorry for disturbing you, but see, my da-father sent me and my brothers on Quest.’’ World is quiet, and he is sure he can make out quiet humming, and from corner of his eye he can see few branches moving.  Maybe they want him to go on?

‘’Yes, there are three of us. I’m Ivan youngest. Vasili is eldest and Dimitri is middle child.’’ trees look younger, but no less grand, and he is sure few leaves are moving in their crowns without wind.

 ‘’You know, classic stuff, inheritance and all. And well, it wouldn’t be fair to me to slack off while my brothers try to win and father always said being lazy is like a sin.’’ Forest looks as if it is in early autumn now, and he sees few flowers sprout near him,  kind he isn’t sure exists anywhere else, rising from ground, small and purple, and that is good sign right?

That or they are giving him middle finger as flowers are  reproductive organs for tress and all. He wonders if there is meaning in them being purple. It’s a powerful color though all of them are in right occasions.

‘’Well, sorry if I’m boring you, but I need to go on Quest and it will last a year at most, so I thought I should make introductions and  ask for permission.’’ He makes small bow, kind people made for kings in old days, and he is sure magical ancient trees deserve that much, and he stumbles over his own legs, falling down on grass.

‘’Oh no, so sorry for that! I will fix it and just let me-’’ But to his wonder, grass fixes itself, rising upwards, and he sees roots move and spin. As roots are used by trees to feed among other kind they are something like mouths so he hopes it is good smile.

‘’Wow. You are fantastic.’’ And leaves definitely rustle at that. ‘’ Ummm, can I go on? I promise I won’t make mess. And I do you can freely, I don’t know, nail my skin on your trunks?’’ Branches  of smaller trees extended showed him  way forward.

‘’Thank you so much! You are really kind.’’ he stopped for moment and looked back. ‘’I hope my things don’t bother you.’’ Branches waved and he took it for no. So he went off in depths of woods, not bothered by his things remaining on open. There was nobody around, and even if there was, none were stupid enough to try to steal something found near border of The Forest when chances were more often than not that it was illusion.

‘’If I make some mistake, please tell me.’’ It felt bit strange to talk to trees but well it was The Forest-nothing was ordinary there. And when he was child he used to talk to toys and doors before father told him to stop, so it wasn’t anything new.

‘’And um, if you see my brothers can you  tell them hi? not that I want to abuse your hospitality but-‘’’

* * *

 

‘’And what do you think of this, granddaughter?’’ They were back one witch,  sitting  on the mountain as if it was throne, knitting...something woolen and bloody  with too many sleeves to fit any remotely humanoid creature.

‘’I.. I’m not sure.’’ Vasilisa said, looking at magma boiling beneath her.

‘’Oh?’’ Baba Yaga asked.

‘’Well, on one hand, I am not sure how does he plan to find anything or fulfill tasks, which is foolish... But on other hand he paid proper respect to the Forest, which is very good... But then he also did something to  trees, and it likes him and I’m not sure whether that is good or ill...’’

‘’Oh, they are just caring for him. Looking out, clearing his path, that kind of thing.’’

‘’They never did that with _me_.’’ Vasilisa almost pouted. In fact, on day of her fateful visit to the Forest, she was sure several branches purposely hit her in head.

‘’He asked _them_ for permission to enter and continue the Quest. _You_ thought of snapping several branches and setting them on fire so you could take them back pretend you took them from us.’’ Vasilisa blushed as Baba Yaga cackled. ‘’Don’t worry, they like you, you are one of them now. they are just  still bit grumpy about that . Now back to work, we have new prospective worker looking for interview.  I need you to tell us whether he is capable or whether we should start getting over ready.’’

Vasilisa’s eyebrow twitched, but she made no other sign of her irritation, which  was proof of great composure in her mind, given she had been waiting for more than two hundred years for this moment, and preparing for two decades.

‘’Oh, don’t be like that!’’ Baba Yaga said, lips quirked. ‘’We will record it for you.’’

* * *

 

‘’-and then, imagine please, she  took his soccer ball and  shot Vasili in his face, and other one slapped him thrice!’’ Trees couldn’t talk, but their branches rustled, demanding more, and Ivan continued smiling. It was nice to have somebody who would listen, and trees seemed to be particularly interested in  tales about his family (mostly funny ones) and in descriptions of city’s architecture.

His phone didn’t work. He checked it again-just  black screen and plastic, though it’s texture felt weird, something between wood and metal. He didn’t know whether it would work again once ( _if_ , he reminded himself) he got out, but it didn’t matter. He already knew all contacts by heart-father’s, his brothers’s, police, hospital, taxi and firemen’s.

‘’-and there is this church, it is stunning, colors are magnificent, but crosses on roofs are simply-‘’

**_‘’Heeeeeelp! Somebody, please help! Heeeeelp!’’_** Scream echoed from between trees, high and slithery and pitched. It was pained, horrible, desperate sound, such that ignoring it would be sin.

And it was coming away from path.

Rules were simple. Don’t leave path. On path they can’t harm you if you don’t invite trouble. But in depths of the Forest. Scream was more than likely a trick, illusion that served to attract unwary traveler away from safety, trick that would see him consumed and torn apart and....

**_‘’Heeelp! Please, anybody, heelp!’’_** And Ivan abandoned path and ran. He ran through bushes and darkness, murmuring apologies whole way, and each sorry seemed to move branch away from his face or root from his legs.

There was fire. Small but bright, flames flickered and smoked and inside them, at very heart of flame was coiled, screaming snake.

‘’Oh thank you, thank you! Help me, fast! Hurry, please!’’ Snake shouted with voice as strong as that of bear Ivan ran towards fire, reaching out with his hands, when snake hissed and bent.

‘’Not with hands, idiot! Take stick!’’ Ivan looked around and saw branches lying left and right. He took the longest one and  put it in fire. Snake crawled over wood to him and dropped to ground.

‘’Oh God, are you okay? Were you in there long, your burns...’’

‘’’Red flowers, left of big oak. Bring them, throw them on my skin.’’ Ivan nodded and took off in direction snake showed with it’s head. With quick apology he took flowers, root and all, and threw them on snake. Moment they touched burned, ash-covered scales they dispersed in  ruby dust, and in cloud of sparkling motes snake was restored, ash gone and scales golden and cold.

‘’Fire! If it spreads....’’ Ivan shouted and started digging through earth, taking dust in his arms. Snake looked and spoke.

‘’It won’t spread to trees, but grass might catch on before they can summon rain. Take blue leaf next to those stones and throw it in.’’ Ivan did as he was instructed, and blue leaf absorbed fire before crumbling in ash.

‘’That’s good...’’ Ivan said, looking over different berries and flowers. Who knew what powers they held?

‘’Sorry.’’ Snake said. Ivan turned, gaping on it.

‘’Why? You have nothing to apologize for. For what are you sorry for?’’

‘’ For calling you idiot. It was rude, especially as you were  trying to save me. I was worried you will get burned. And I’m sorry for taking you off the path.’’ Ivan stared at talking snake as if it had grown another head-which, this being the Forest wasn’t unusual, he supposed. Still, he felt as if he hallucianating- apologizing for something as small as calling him idiot? Who does that?

‘’Ah, you really shouldn’t. I was being reckless, and probably wouldn’t have managed anything without your instructions. And well I couldn’t stay on path while somebody was screaming and begging for help. But really you shouldn’t apologize for callling me idiot. It is weird.’’ If snake had eyelids, it would have narrowed them.

‘’Nevertheless I did. And as you saved me, now I owe you life debt.’’

‘’Oh no! Please don’t!’’

‘’Excuse me? Is there some problem?’’

‘’That...that life debt thing, please don’t. You don’t owe me anything. It’s common decency. Anybody would have done same. And again, I don’t think I would have done anything properly without you shouting orders at my thick skull.’’

‘’And I think you are selling yourself short. And I must repay you. Such is law of The Forest. I can no more refuse it than Sun can rise in west. Besides, I suppose you are on the Quest, right?’’

‘’Um, yeah... Why are you asking?’’ It was probably obvious-humans didn’t venture in the Forest for much else, and he doubted he could qualify as the Forest witch.

‘’Well, as repayment, I would like to offer you help.’’

‘’No! You can’t! It isn’t fair.’’ Ivan shouted.

‘’ You saved my life. I can give you aid that will help you navigate the Forest. And let me tell you, no hero would have lasted a month in the Forest without some sort of aid. Your technology doesn’t work here, not even knives. And you must admit that general human knowledge of this place is rather limited. You need tools and brains to survive here, and tools and advice you can get only from inhabitants.’’

‘’Well, I’m not much of hero but...’’ The snake snorted.

‘’ Listen, pretty boy. Whatever you say I will repay this debt. I shall not allow myself to let man who saved me walk around without any sort of help, so this is rather pointless. And believe me, if I need to follow you around until you accept  for thrice seven years I will.’’ Ivan blushed and mumbled thanks.

‘’So you are accepting.’’

‘’I...yes? If it isn’t some bothering to you. I wouldn’t want to impose on you.’’

‘’Trust me, this is least I can do. Now, can I climb to your shoulder? We will need to go to my home if we are to get you something. You could follow me as I take lead but I think you would prefer to have me at my side.’’ And then snake did something with it’s forked tongue that was apparently supposed to be giggle. ‘’ And honestly, I’m still feeling bit weak and it’s tiring to yell this much. I would have much easier time talking to you if I was near your ear.’’

‘’Oh! Of course then! Sorry.’’ Ivan kneeled on dirt and snake climbed up his arm to his shoulder.

‘’Now, this might be little uncomfortable, but I’m going to wrap around your neck.’’

‘’Oh.’’

‘’Don’t  worry, I won’t suffocate you. It would break laws more than not paying back debt and honestly I don’t have enough  strength for that. Though if you are uncomfortable with that I could get inside your pockets.’’

‘’Oh, no freely do so. You didn’t even need to ask.’’  Ivan didn’t see snake’s eyes go wide, as it circled pale skin and settled around his neck like golden necklace, light and cool.

‘’Now, take turn left. We are going to my father.’’

Your father?’’ Well, obviously snake had to have father, but Ivan was surprised old snake was still alive. But then this was Forest.

‘’Yes, the Tsar of Snakes.’’

‘’Then you are the tsarevich? Wow, I’m sorry Your Highness.’’

‘’Calm down, I’m not tsarevich, just his son. We snakes don’t have leaders like your people. Better to say that he is oldest and wisest of us, leader of pack from whom all of  us are  descendants in some way.’’

‘’Ah, I see. Are there many snakes in the Forest?’’

‘’More than in whole world  all together.’’

‘’Wow. Sounds beautiful. And Tsar is ancestor of all of you.’’

‘’Yes. He is... it is hard to explain, because humans don’t have proper terms for that, but he is the first snake and every snake at same time. Similar to legend of Adam and Eve,  though not really that much of good parallel.’’

‘’Do you have siblings? Mother? I have two brothers and my father.’’

‘’ I have more siblings than I can count, and more mothers than there are blades of grass in world. All snakes are my father’s children, and he loves us all equally, caring and guiding with stern but righteous wisdom. Go over there, next to stream.’’

‘’Sounds just like my father, he is very caring. And me and my brothers are really close. Oh, I forgot to ask you, what is your name?’’

‘’I lost count of how many times you just said oh since we met each other. And don’t you dare say sorry once again.’’

‘’...Sorry.’’ Snake sighed but then he giggled again.

‘’No matter. My name is-‘’ and then he let out strange hissing sound, his forked tongue ejected from his mouth before he spoke again ‘’-which means something like _‘’ Crawling through leaves while autumn wind blows.’’_   It’s more of description than name, as is common with us. True names are to be hidden, not given out, because somebody can use them to control you. Unless you gave your name to trees. They guard names but make no use of them. Go to that bush of red roses then right  until golden pillar then right again.’’

‘’Fascinating. What makes name true one?’’

‘’Several things. There is skin name, which is first name you were given. Usually it is birth name. It can be used to control somebody’s body  and actions.

There is heart name, name you choose for yourself that expresses your sense of identity, which can be used to control thoughts and feelings.

And there is spirit name, name of your soul that embodies everything you are which can be used to summon somebody and control their will.

Most people don’t know which is which until they are really old, and some not even then, so I wouldn’t recommend using any name that seems significant to you. Go over tulip bridge.’’

‘’Thanks for information! Can that be seen as payment of debt?’’

‘’Not even close. Between iron nestles now. How should I call you?’’

‘’Uhhh... I have no idea.’’

‘’Does _Pretty eyes, gentle voice, many apologies_ sound good to you?’’

‘’You are joking! That is best nickname ever. ‘’ Father’s frowning face swam in his mind. ‘’Though my eyes aren’t _pretty_. Or nice at all. And my voice isn’t gentle.’’  He smiled. ‘’ Though it’s bit long. Maybe just one word? And I can call you something short if you don’t have problem with that? Your name is bit long.’’

‘’Call me Crawling, or Autumn, or Wind. I will call you Pretty.’’

‘’Hey!’’ Ivan said with wide smile on his features. ‘’I will call you Autumn. You know, I though talking snakes will speak  like thissssss.’’

‘’Why?’’

‘’Blame cartoons.’’

‘’Car...Next to those red berries. Careful, those aren’t strawberries, even if it is easy to confuse them . If they fall on ground they  will start fire.’’

‘’Did that happen to you?’’

‘’I refuse to answer that question.’’

‘’What is your father’s name? And can I ask what species you are? I never saw snake like you.’’

‘’My father is just Tsar of Snakes. If he was ever called anything different, it was too long ago for anybody else but Sun and Moon to remember. We snakes consider ourselves one and same, but I have been told that snakes that look  like me exist only in the Forest. There are many such  beings here.’’

‘’Cool!  You are endemic! And this is like magical national park!’’

‘’A what?’’

‘’Oh, sorry. In human world endemic species is what we call species that live just in specific area. And often those areas are national parks, places protected by law from industry so those species could be preserved.’’

‘’Are there many such places in your society? Down the slope.’’

‘’Unfortunately no. Not many are concerned with protecting woods and animals because they are scared of The Forests. Which is stupid because those places are important and The Forest is so amazing and..’’

‘’Stop.’’

‘’Oh sorry.’’ Autumn rolled his amber eyes. they were in front of cave with small entrance, giant tree growing over it.

‘’ Here we are, we just need to enter the cave. Now listen to me, my father will offer you many treasures, but refuse each one and just ask for silent language.  He will try to get you to reconsider and take something else, but this is best option. Once you thrice refuse him he will give it to you. It’s an immensely useful ability and I believe you will like it. Now let’s go inside.’’ Ivan had to significantly lower his head to enter in dark cave of rough, soft stone covered by ivy and dried moss.

‘’You live under earth?’’

‘’Yes. But at different layers.’’

‘’Of ground?’’

‘’Of reality. ‘’

‘’What?’’

‘’World isn’t as simple as it seems. There are several layers-three in fact-that compose world as you know it. Humans and most of us live in Upper layer. My father lives in the Underworld.’’

‘’Underworld? With  ghosts?’’

‘’No. Dead pass through there, because we snakes-even ones outside of Forests have bonds with otherworld and ancestors. But Underworld is place of truth, of essence, of different aspects of universe. Spirits, elements and ideas walk as living there.’’ Tunnel seemed longer and bigger, and Ivan could feel air prickling at him, like static electricity.

‘’And what is second layer?’’

‘’Middle. It is in-between place, for creatures like undead and  ‘’magical’’ beasts and similar. Bit like Forest but less so. You need portals like this one to lead you to Middle, and then you need portal ritual and spirit to help you cross over to Underworld. But in Forests we can cheap a little.’’

‘’Are there dragons in Middle?’’

‘’Yes, more so than in Forest. Why?’’ Autumn rose his head to look at Ivan. ‘’Please tell me  you aren’t planning to try to slay one?’’

‘’No! never! Of course not! I just have to get one scale.’’

‘’Ah, good. I was scared-we are cousins, you know, we snakes and dragons. Some snakes even become dragons when they are old enough. I would feel responsible for death of one then...or your most likely. But in this case, everything is well. And I dare say you will find mute language very useful then.’’

Tunnel has became giant, and full of light that somehow didn’t harm Ivan’s eyes. It was made of dirt, and giant roots, and he was washed over with joy and energy as he fell down through light in cave of giant stone spikes and enormous grass. There were snakes left and right, and path made of multi-colored scales, and Ivan followed it as it became bridge and stairs, while around him snakes hissed, so many of them, yet sound didn’t bother him.

There, on the top of the stairs was the Tsar of Snakes. No, The Snake itself. Ivan saw it, long, long enough to wrap around Earth and still have to bite it’s own tail to cover all in one ring, longer beyond comprehension. It’s form shifted-Tsar was changing species in matter of seconds, and being none and every, and  he was giant composed of million other snakes, and he was venomous  one moment and other not.

He was Tsar of Snakes, the embodiment of snakes themselves, the scale and  tail and fangs and two eyes and forked tongue, he was the rule and template that others followed, that was inherent in them, he was symbol and sign and wisdom and danger and thing humans prayed to, archetype of so many gods and so much more.

Ivan bowed murmured something he couldn’t remember but hoped was respectful introduction. Autumn jumped off his neck and hissed to Tsar.

‘’YOU SAVED MY SON. HE LIVES BECAUSE OF YOU. ASK FOR PRIZE AND IF I CAN I SHALL GRANT IT TO YOU. A SWORD TO LAST IN THE FOREST? JEWELS AND COINS? NAMES OF YOUR ENEMIES? ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE.’’ Trembling, barely remembering Autumn’s words he spoke.

‘’I would ask for mute language.’’ And hissing stopped.

‘’YOU ASK FOR MUTE LANGUAGE? FOR POWER TO SPEAK TO AND BE SPOKEN BACK BY ANIMALS AND PLANTS? YOU SEEK TO UNDERSTAND ANY WORD MORTAL TONGUE CAN PRONOUNCE AND FOR ALL HERBS TO REVEAL WHAT AILMENT  THEY HEAL TO YOU? THAT IS TOO DANGEROUS. ASK FOR SOMETHING ELSE.”’

‘’I-I...I seek nothing but that, great Tsar.’’

‘’SHALL YOU POSSESS THAT POWER, YOU WOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO REVEAL IT TO ANY HUMAN< OR YOU WOULD DROP IMMEDIATELY. ASK FOR SOMETHING ELSE> MORTALS CANNOT BEAR SECRETS FOR SO LONG. YOU WILL NEED TO SPEAK WITH YOUR KIND ABOUT IT.’’

‘’I...I seek only mute language, great Tsar.’’ He says as his teeth chatter and his eyes stare at floor of scales, wide and unblinking and his whole body trembling.

‘’WISDOM IS TOO GREAT, TOO HARSH. TAKE RICHES, TAKE WEAPONS.’’ Ivan thinks of trees that listen to him, and of snakes back home that can’t speak like Autumn, and dragon he will have to face, and if all herbs will reveal what they cure maybe he can fix what is wrong with him and if he can understand any language maybe he can understand even people’s hidden meanings and says.

‘’Great Tsar, I came for that, and I will have nothing else. Otherwise, I will leave as I cam.’’ And he gets up, trembling and waves with his right hand.

‘’Goodbye Tsar, goodbye Autumn.’’ And he takes a step.

‘’STOP. DEBT MUST BE PAID AND YOU ARE STUBBORN. MY SON CLAIMS YOU ARE READY AND I SHALL HONOR YOU REQUEST.’’ Tsar’s head arches right next to Ivan’s. ‘’THRICE I WILL SPIT IN YOUR MOUTH AND THRICE YOU WILL SPIT BACK, AND THIS KNOWLEDGE SHALL BE YOURS.’’ Ivan shudders but opens mouth.

‘’READY?’’ He nods even if he doesn’t know why Tsar even asks. And then Tsar spits, small drop (how did such enormous mouth produce so little saliva, it was big enough to frown world thrice over) that tears and scorches his throat and he thinks foam will rise from his mouth.

‘’NOW YOU.’’ And Ivan spits to Tsar’s mouth. Tsar spits back, and this drop is clear and cold and more like water than anything else.

‘’YOU AGAIN.’’ Ivan spits back, and tsar drops final one, more bubbles and air than anything else,  but this one is sweet and creamy and smelling of summer flowers.

‘’ONLY ONCE MORE.’’ And Ivan spits to great jaws, and once Tsar closes his mouth, hissing he didn’t notice turns in voices-no, it remains hissing, but he understands.

_‘’Bravo! ‘’_

_‘’Excellent!’’_

_‘’Fantastic!’’_

_‘’Congratulations!’’_

_‘’That’s a spirit, young man!’’_

‘’I HOPE YOU ARE SATISFIED.’’

‘’Yes, I-thank you so much, and sorry for spitting at you-‘’

‘’DON’T BE FOOLISH CHILD, IT WAS MUCH MORE UNCOMFORTABLE FOR YOU. I’M SORRY FOR THAT, BUT SUCH ARE RULES. THOUGH I CAN TELL YOU YOU BORE IT BETTER THAN MANY.’’

‘’Tha-thanks.’’

‘’NOW GO. PORTAL WILL BE OPEN FOR YOU. THOUGH KNOW YOU WILL BE WELCOME AS FRIEND AMONG MY SNAKES.’’

‘’Thank you, I don’t know how to than you, that is such a honor!’’

‘’No. That is just debt being paid.’’ Ivan turns, and between him and tsar stands snake, tall as Ivan,  golden and cold, and then it is snakelike humanoid with legs and arms, and then half snake and half man, and then  human with amber eyes and forked tongue and green  and brown  and orange hair and dark brown skin like forest soil and wood bark, dressed in golden scales, for head shorter than Ivan, and all images are one at same time.

‘’I hope I will see you again, my rescuer. You still haven’t explained to me what cartoons are and why in them snakes speak like thissss.’’ And his tongue flies out once he reaches s.’’ But that can wait for another time. Now we part as friends, and next time we meet we may even become oath brothers. ’’

Ivan stares then laughs and actually pulls Autumn in strong embrace, and snake almost chokes even if he is much, much more muscular than Ivan with his tiny waist. Like friends they kiss each other on both cheeks and then Autumn blinks, puts dark finger on his rich lips, and then puts it on Ivan’s  thin, pink ones. Something warm and smooth flashes through Ivan’s whole body and he feels as if he slept long night in very soft bed.

‘’You had bruise on eye and few cracked ribs, but I fixed that.  can’t go on Quest like that, can you, _Pretty_ eyes, gentle words many apologies?’’

‘’You-‘’ Ivan’s cheeks puff and he laughs as he skips down and waves and enters tunnel, hearing plants asking him to continue describing church and ‘ _’-and what was so wrong with that cross? What is cross.’’_

 

* * *

 

‘’HE IS FINE YOUNG MAN.’’

‘’Yes, he is very sweet.’’

‘’IF I REMEMBER WELL, YOU WERE ALWAYS ONE LAUGHING AT  YOUR SIBLINGS HEROES RESCUED FROM FIRE.  HOW DOES IT FEEL?”

‘’Eye-opening, I have never been manipulated by story before.’’

‘’AND HOW DID YOU GET STUCK IN FIRE?’’

‘’That is unnecessary information. You know, I was thinking he was going to bail out didn’t expect that he would tell you off like that.’’

‘’THERE IS MORE TO HIM THAN IT MEETS EYE, EVEN YOURS.’’

‘’So it seems.’’

‘’I WOULD HAVE GIVEN HIM GIFT ANYWAY.’’

‘’ What? But rules, your nature...’’

‘’ARE NOT SO TIGHT TO RESTRICT ME WHEN I COME FACE TO FACE WITH TSAREVICH OF MOST EXCEEDED  MISTRESSES.’’

‘’What?’’

‘’THEY WOULD HAVE TORN US APART, AND HE DOESN’T SEEM TO BE ONE WHO WON’T  KNOW HOW TO COPE WITH GIFT.’’

‘’But _he_ is an Ivan?’’

‘’WHY WOULD YOU THINK OTHERWISE?’’

‘’He said... he said his father and brothers were nice!’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slavic folklore, bit reinterpreted to fit my world. ''Song'' at beginning is my invention. It will come in after some time.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it, please review.


	7. Transference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan exits Forest and as advised, applies for job in specific restaurant. He copes better than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is seventh chapter. I'm in mountains with rare and bad internet connection, and haven't been feeling particularly motivated last few days. So sorry for wait.  
> Big thanks to redlipstickkisses/owlgirl1998.  
> Title is again from Propp's functions. I hope I get to use them all.  
> Thank you for reading, I hope you like it and please comment.

_''And so it happened. He has got the blessings and right tongues, and The Forest likes him once again. Wonder it took them so long to remember though.'' Baba Yaga spoke, seated among asteroids, spinning stardust threads._

_'' No matter how great  and powerful, trees are still but trees, Great Lady. Their wisdom and seeing are malleable, and never as clear as Yours.'' Typhoon of ash and broken glass spoke, turned and looking and edging towards a black hole **(what does it see, what does it imagine lies there, and what does it seek, who can know but the three sister-aspects** )._

_''How long will it take him to arrive?'' Baba Yaga ask, amusement in their voice sending solar winds and blue light across void. When you are all-knowing, it is awfully easy to get bored, and if playing with younger souls is what makes them laugh well what can they do but continue with intrigue ( **and maybe some wwant to know less, maybe they fear silence and loneliness and-**_

**_Quiet you, or we shall make soup out of your blue, blue wings._ **

**_Of course Your Ladyships,  I am most regretful of such words. May I continue?_ **

**_Hmmm, for now._ **

**_Of course. I am grateful, Your Ladyships._ **

**_That is yet to be seen. Now stop wasting time._ ** _)_

_''Three days. It will seem less for him.''_

_''Couldn't be less for us too?'' Ask they, who call time youngling and for whom this all will end in less than blink._

_''No. They wanted tradition, you know, and I didn't want to push the issue. Besides, it will harm nobody, and if any are bored enough to check records they will find that travel from capitol to here takes three days as well.'' What records? Those of men and paper or of cosmos and stars? Which is true, what do you prefer?_

_'' You should have pushed that issue.  You should have, when you could have. And if any wanted to bring up missing time and space, well that is easy to deal with.'' Jaws are wide enough to swallow galaxy, fangs sharp enough to tear apart energy._

_''Such is not my way. And neither did You order them, and You have much better chances of getting them to listen than I. You order them less than me, even if You have more right than me.'' Bits of glass reach out to black hole, close enough to be sucked in and broken but but but..._

_''Because they will listen. We never order round because I don't need to. They aren't stupid enough to refuse us. We only order those who are dumb enough not to listen, so we teach them lesson then. Can't teach lesson to respectful ones. Besides, the Forest can't give us anything we can't take alone, so what is point?'' Baba Yaga spoke as they reached for sunfire and coated threads with it, then dipped cloth in ring of icy planets._

_''Well, go on with your work. You don't have enough time for laying around. '' Then after second they added. ''We wish you luck on your job.''_

_''Thank you, Great Lady.''  Baba Yaga's companion answered as it swam through space to bright nebula. Once it disappeared Baba Yaga grumbled then took thin, scorched black thread and dusted bit of silver and gold dust on it._

_Blessings for respectful never hurt anybody. Too much at least._

* * *

 

 _''You will leave us for now.''_ If somebody told Ivan that he would one day gain ability to hear anybody and anything, and that he would speak with half of country and like it, at once he would tell them (if he dared to contradict) that he would go mad from all that noise. There must have been billions of trees in the Forest, and thought of so many talking at once made his heart stop beating for while.

But luckily, the whole of the Forest shared one mind and one voice. It seemed that the trees were simply pieces, extensions of it, in same way as toes or teeth- you contained them, but you weren't one.

''Why? Did I do something wrong? If I offended you I..'' The Forest had every right to throw him out-having somebody inside yourself must have been uncomfortable, even if you shared similar interests in architecture- but (not so) small part of him panicked, thinking _I won't finish_ _the Quest_ and _The father will kill me_ and _Not even the Forest can stand me_.

_''No. Time simply isn't right. You will be called when it is.''_

''Oh. There is...  there arerules to this?''

_''There are always rules.''_

''I didn't know. Sorry.''

_''Nobody told you. You couldn't know. You will come again, when all is right.''_

''Will it be soon? I don't mean to intrude but what if it is too late.''

_''You have year. You will have more than enough time to fullfill all tasks.''_

''That is...that is so reassuring. Thank you.''

_''We will lead you to the town on south. It is close to us and you can find good job there.''_

''You... you don't have to. That is too kind.''

_''But we want to. Your things will be waiting on border. When you go  beyond their gray walls search for **Babushka's izobushka**.  You will like it there.''_

''I will. Thank you.'' You don't refuse gifts. If somebody gave you something you loved it whether you enjoyed it or not. One of earliest and hardest lessons.

_''We will wait for you. We hope you will bring us more stories, more pretty tales about buildings.''_

''I will.'' He had to, after what they had done for him.

 _'' Good. Now follow.''_ Map seared through Ivan's mind, and with one eye he saw what was in front of him and with other where he had to go and how. And so he walked.

* * *

 

When he came out of the Forest, he felt warmth flee his body as world turned bright and colorless and sharp. Air was knocked out of his lungs as he stared at lifeless ground littered with pebbles and gray sky barely pierced by rays of newborn Sun. His motorcycle and bag stood on edge, far enough from trees to work but close enough for thieves to avoid.

''Thank you. I hope I see you soon.'' Same went for Autumn and his father, and hopefully he would find more..acquitances next time.

 _''You will. Now ride.''_ And so he did. He jumped on motorcycle, put on helmet and rode, as if running from incoming weak dawn, waving to trees, sure branches moved  accordingly.

Road was old and full of cracks, and he was slow and careful. He hoped city was prettier than road-fact that Forest's borders were clearly defined didn't stop people from cutting down any poor tree that grew too close to city.

And soon town came in view- or at least it's broad, crumbling walls. In older days people built walls around cities, creating fortresses to keep armies and magic away (former was sucessful half the time, latter not so much). Practice died out almost decade ago as towns expanded-some walls were kept preserved as cutural monuments (which was for best in Ivan's opinion, as much as it was worth), torn down (whch was sad but necessary) or left to crumble (which was disrespectful and frankly downrightdangerous). Ivan had to navigate through boulders and avoid pebbles as he rode in through giant crack in wall.

The buildings were that of early 30th century, being tall and broad, stocky, geometric shapes made of rough brown-grey concrete that paved streets, offering not much in terms of variety but somehow, even shattered like this, keeping sense of nostalgia and friendlines, so unlike chaotic, brave and bizzare shapes of fractured blinding glass and steeel that dominated last few decades. His father would say that this town had a soul, that it was respected.

Going through abandoned streets and neighborhoods, glass and dust all around him, Ivan felt as if he was passing through graveyard. Town deserved better than this forgotten outskirts. If they weren't repaired and mantained they could at least be torn down and replaced with new homes.

Slow wind blew and small piece of paper, green and pink flew and stuck at glass of Ivan's helmet.  He stopped same second and got helmet off.

The paper was rough and cracking, like page of old book, but photograph of building he couldn't describe was flashing light and new at top. He read black words,bold and clear:

**Babushka's izobushka**

**Cafe and restaurant offering best homemade goods. Looking for worker, a cook capable of preparing all kinds of dishes and willing to work early in morning.  Pay to be  disscussed, along with rooms avaible  to be rented out. Chicken street number 3.**

Ivan's first thought was _Naming street after  chickens? Cute!_

Second was _What sort of restaurant rents out rooms?_

Third was _How does Forest know about it?_

Fourth was _This sounds as perfect for me!_

Fifth was his father, angry and frowning, looking at Ivan with eyes like daggers. If he knew Ivan was thinking of doing something like that, of crashing in somebody's apartments without earning his own, of depending on another, of doing such simple and _female_ job he would-he would...

_The Story sighs and wraps around it's Tsarevich, settling between his bones, wrapping threads of tradition around his heart, settling his legs on path, for he must walk to The Witch, who shall be Test and Donor and Mentor, as they graciously agreed._

_Go, story whispered to his still beating heart. Go, for you have the Quest, and you must fulfill it. Quitting because of shame is cowardice.  Forest gave you advice and you should follow it._

_Of course, advice could be ignored, but only when it would set up new task and danger, but this one would simply lead to boring and ordinary,and people don't like such tales, and so Story obeys._

No. He.. he had to go. Forest told him to go, and it would be rude and dangerous to ignore, and surely he would find some help there. And father also said that you had to swallow pride and go on with fulfilling job. Yes, he would understand. So Ivan turned paper and followed map.

This town, like many others, was more of road and street with homes hurled on sides, hardly any space toproperly walk, road complex like spiderweb being it's basis. They likely didn't even have park-too close to the Forest for people to trust trees. Still, as he left crumbling edges he found warm and old buildings surrounding him, until he arrived to the Chicken street number 3.

There was parking, and iron gate, sharp as fangs, painted green, and there was building itself. It was tall, and had thirteen floors, and old, and beautifully painted, and different from others, and that  was all he could see. He couldn't describe shape, or guess colors, or count windows-or even be sure how many there were. It was as if somebody described vague outline of building, and universe forgot to add any details beyond simple facts. He felt that it was different, better than rest of town, but he couldn't for life of him describe how.

He looked down, and saw green  grass, growing between cracks of old gray concrete that sometimes seemed to be marble or mud, and smiled as he hear hum of soft melody.

Oh, there was magic here for sure. He smiled. Well, at least he didn't have to carry his bag inside

* * *

 

''Um, hello.'' He said to short  man in his forties, working seated at bar with cash register. Man looked at him with cold eyes.

''Please, if you want to order, seat for table and call for waiter.''

''No, I...'' Beautiful. He already messed up, what if they didn't accept if.''I came to work!'' He spat out, and went red when several heads turned in his direction.

''Oh. For cook, yes?''  Ivan nodded.

''Olya! Take over! I need to bring guy to interview.'' Blonde seventeen year old flashed thumbs at him.

''Follow me. Entrance for workers is at back.'' Ivan nodded again and went through doors with man.

''So, you are cook? You look bit young to have finished school. Do you live here? '' Behind bar waiters were bringing trays, one for each arm, stuffed with delicious food.

'' I haven't. I mean, I just finished first year of college. And I'm not from this town.''

''Summer job then?'' They went up one floor, that looked same as previous one.

''Something like that. I may stay for whole year though.''

''Why?''

''...Family stuff. Emergency.''

''Oh. Is it bad?''

''We aren't sure yet. It's complicated to explain.'' Third floor was hallway filled with metal doors, waiters bursting from them. Inside Ivan saw cooks working. _Aren't kitchens supposed to be behind bars?_

''Understand. Won't pry.''

''Thank you.''

''Nothing.  I suppose you are sudying cooking? Or however you call it scientifially.''

''N-no.'' He said, looking down. He felt ashamed for wanting to apply now, but man found nothing strange with man applying for position of cook. ''I study law, but I'm good with food, if I can say so.'' God, he hoped he wasn't bragging.'' Self-taught, and I need money, so I thought to start working because I will need some money soon.''

'' Well, we will see what manager has to say. Nothing against self-taught, we accept all sorts, with or without deegre. I did something similar when I was young. It was some, oh, twenty five years ago and there was this... Oy, Zola!'' Man waved to fifty something woman walking towards them.

She was short, not even coming up to Ivan's elbows. Her skin was rosy and rudy, her cheeks oblong and with dimples, plain  face covered with wrinkles made because of smiling. Her blonde hair, streaked with few strands of grey, was pulled in tight bun. She had wide shoulders and thick, strong muscles, as if she was used to raising burden five times her weight. Her eyes were most beautiful blue Ivan ever saw, and massive red scar stretched across half of her face. She had necklace of glass beads, black skirt and grey sweater, and sweet smile.

 _Her children are blessed_. He didn't know why he thought that. Not every woman had children, and many didn't want them, but this woman simply felt like mother. He thought he could see her being anybody and everybody's mother,  no matter who or what they were. She radiated gentleness and care, making her seem like perfect mother, just as Vladimir, perfect father, radiated firmness and authority. But there was something more... He simply knew she was kind, caring for all, same way he knew Tsar of Snakes was every snake.

 _Ah_. When he looked better, he noticed he couldn't say on which side of face scar was located, left or right, and she had no shadow but Ivan could catch darkness drifting at edges of her form, like smudged line. _Finding magic really was easy. Or maybe it was magic that found him._

Man noticed nothing, or at least pretended not to, as he chatted with her for short time before turning back way he came.

''Zola will lead you. Good luck boy.''

''Thank you.'' Ivan said as he turned to Zola, feeling uncomfortable because he had to look down on her to see her face. He wasn't made for that, looking down at people like that, but if he wanted to catch her eyes...

''You don't need to arch yur neck like that, you will hurt it. Come, hold your head as you like it.'' Zola said.

''Thank you.''

''No need for that either. Now, you saw previous floors. Next one is pantry, and fifth is for offices. That is where we are going. Floors six-twelve are rooms for workers who can't afford their own apartments or stay in hotels. Floor thirteen is for bosses.'' Zola spoke as they went up  stairs.

''We work in three shifts. Morning shift is from 07:00 to 13:00.  Afternoon is till  19:00 and evening until 01:00.  Cooks from each shift prepare food for next shift, so you will be working in morning to prepare food for afternoon. So customers won't wait.''

Ivan said nothing but mused over it.  That sounded weird-people made food for current customers, not for ones coming in few hourds. And what if somebody ordered something they have run out of? And wouldn't such food be better to eat fresh.

''I understand if you are confused. System confounds everybody when they start but we have best  fridges so it works. Though, to be honest, it shouldn't work but bosses ordered so and here we are.

If you want to, you can rent out room. It may come with roommate.'' Ivan looked down at floor. Great. Spending whole day with another person sounded great in theory –making new friends, sharin same space-but in practice... he would just be bothersome and annoying and have constantly to take note if he was behaving normally.

'' Room can be paid for with money or services. You can work another shift, but not as cook-there is only one open position for it left. You can work as waiter or cleaner. I recommend being waiter.''

''Why not cleaner?'' Father gave him just enough money to get by and buy some food, he was sure he wouldn't be able to pay  room. And he as waiter...no, restaurant would be bankrupt by first five minutes.

''I'm head housekeeper, to say so, among other thins, and I'm  horrible perfectionist when it comes to cleaning. Holdover from my first...job. I had _quite_ demanding... employer, and some of her habits unfortunately carried over to me and got stuck.''

''Well, I could bear that. I could never be waiter,  I am horribly clumsy. Probably clumsiest person ever. I t would not surprise me if I killed somebody accidentaly. And I'm not really smart, so I would probably forget every order.'' 

''You know Ivan, it's nice to admit your flws,but don't go overboard. It could give people wrong opinion of you. And there are many kinds of being smart. Good memory is just one of them. There is solving problems, and understanding how things work, and knowing how to learn, and noticing **things** many would fail to see or disregard.'' Her hair turned night  black then returned to it's original color in span of eyeblink. She turned and winked at Ivan. He smiled.

'' Do many people here notice..things?'' Some people, even if they knew for fact that magic and arcanists and Forest existed, knew that most of their technology was thought up by wizards and sorcerers, treated any account of them with disdain, laughing at people who claimed to have encountered magic because such things _don't happen here_. It happens in faraway, uncultured, _exotic_ places.

Ivan viewed magic as elephants. Sure, it may be fr away from _here_ , but it existed and _there_ it was common anyway. People may not acknowledge elephant in room, but it was there sitting at your couch, and only reason not to comment on it was because it was obvious to everybody, not because people wanted to pretend elephant hadn't almost trumpled great granduncle while trying to eat curtans.

''No. Too many of them know certain things below to other places, so when confronted with them mind smply refuses to acknowledge previous belief as false. But sometimes you have to.

And here we are. This is manager's office. See you later, and if you happen to become cleaner expect to use micriscope.'' With that, Zola opened doors. Ivan wasn't surprised when she blinked out of existence.

Inside, office was deep orange and yellow, like a desert. There was fireplace in left corner, and wooden desk stacked with papers. nice,but nothing extraordinary. But when he saw manager, he stopped in his tracks.

She was beautiful, smiling slight unpainted smile. He couldn't guess her age-somewhere between  fifteen and forty five.  Her skin was smooth and cold like porcelain, and almost pale as his, but much, much more healthier, not sickly at all. Her hair was stunning, long and silky and almost white.  Her eyes were gray like stormclouds and as flat as that of fish, single thing that ruined her beauty. She was dressed in pastel green-blue suit, like frozen sea, embroidered with silver and gold.

''Welcome. I'm Vasilisa Yakanievna.'' Her voice was like silver bells.'' I suppose you are here to apply for position of cook. Now, why don't you tell me something about youself.'' She motioned for him to sit, arm moving as slowly and gracefully as water, or mercury.

And he did.

* * *

 

''Well, that would be enough.'' Vasilisa said, and Ivan blinked. He knew he was babbling for... for long time he guessed, but he wasn't sure what he said. He simply stared at Vasilisa's old-young face, and way her skin seemed to glow with pale silver light of moon.

He apparently stumbled his way in herd of elephants.

'' Now, you don't have deegre, and I must say you didn't sound very confident. But you obviously know lot about cooking. I could notice that even without sheer amount of recipes you gave me. I have an experienced chef in my staff, and he shared same tips for sauces as you, which is good. I would like to try that blueberry cheesecake you mentioned.''

''I.. thank you.'' Just what did he say?

''Now, about your stay here. You mentioned you wanted to  work for it. Would you like afternoon or evening shift?''

''Afternoon one, please.'' He was getting used to her voice, her face. Hid mind wasn't so muddled anymore.

''You want to explore city and have fun late at night, I presume. You young are all like that these days.'' Somehow Ivan got impression she would have said same if he was bent with age and grey haired and wrinkled.

''Yes, something like that.''  It was said that Forest was dangerous at night, but that probably just meant that more... people came out  at night. Probably they were all nocturnal or something like that. Dangerous, but surely reasonable at worst.

''Well, do you have something in mind? Waiter, security...''

''I...I thought maybe about being cleaner.'' He confessed, red and mumbling.

''Cleaner? Well, you must be joking.'' Vasilisa said with raised eyebrow. He looked down, biting his lip. Here it was. If father heard just what he had spoken, his poor heart would have given up from shame. Men weren't made for cleaning, and their family had higher aspirations, even Ivan and even security wasn't good even if it was proper man's job and...

''You don't look like murderer to me. Or world-destroying monster. So I'm afraid I can't allow that.''

''Uh? What?'' Was she joking? Or, given where he was, were there really world destroying monsters working and cleaning bathrooms and floors at _Izobushka_.

'' My consience can't allow me to consign just anybody to working as cleaner _here_. I would hesitate to put even Devil himself under Zola's watch.'' Vasilisa shook her head.

 '' That woman is perfectionist like no other, and I pity and pray for dirt that happens to be unfortunate enough to cross her way. No, I can't doom you like that.'' Certain stepfamily nonwithstanding.

 '' No, I can't doom anybody like that. We have to find something else. Maybe...No, filled, no that too...'' She murmured as she looked over papers, and Ivan's heart sunk to his heel. What if he couldn't work here, and didn't hear Forest, and...

''Ah. Well, maybe this...Yes, this could work. Tell me, do you have anything against old women?''

''What? No, of course.'' Did such people exist?   You could hate a few specific old women, but all of them? Why would anybody hate them? Because they were wrinkly and had poor eyesight? Everybody got old, and if you hated all old women you had to hate all women, and as women generally were ones to give births as far as Ivan knew....

''Well, here is my offer. Owners of this restaurant are three sisters, old and experienced ladies. Very wise and likeable, if little...eccentric and cranky. They have still got lot of spirit, but well they are getting rather old. They could use somebody to come over once a week, help out with  tasks-moving furniture, helping cook food, find remote, that sort of things.

And they could use company. I would do that, or Zola, but they won't allow us to help out, and keep piling on tasks for us. We could use some help with them. I promise it won't be hard, and that three of them are really sweet once you get to know them. So what do you say?''

''I..I think I could do that. If they allow, so, of course.''

'' Excellent. I'm sure they will like you. Now, just sign here and we are done. You will receive pay at end of first two weeks. You keep all the tips.  Your roommate can explain you about shifts and free food. Your room is ninth room of ninth floor. Here is my number, if you need anything.'' Vasilisa said, giving Ivan contract, small card and old, iron key. He quickly read contract, finding nothing strange, and signed it.

''And Ivan?''

''Hmmm?'' He looked up at Vasilisa.

''If you notice anything, about anybody, don't bring it up first. Please don't gossip about your coworkers or talk about things from inside of restaurant, especially to ones who aren't employed here.

And when you go to meet ladies, just...don't ask them questions without permission, and if they give permission to you, ask no more than three questions, and think  carefully about what you ask. But don't ask them about things you see inside this building. Got it?'' Ivan smiled and nodded.

''Yeah. Thanks a lot for advice. I'm sure it will help me out a lot.'' Well, here he was, and all was going smoothly.

He had magical gift, and Forest liked him, and he was now living with at least two magical persons, probably five. And all he had to do was to be nice, get along with rommate and be good at his job.

Besides, how hard could helping out three nice old grannies be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hopefully you enjoyed it and please comment.
> 
> Cinderella's alias Zola is derived from Золушка (Zoluška, read Zolushka), which is Cinderella in Russian. Because you don't have to bother about  
> being subtle when you've got Baba Yaga and their silver birch covering for you.
> 
> Kitchen is located on third floor and all food is left to stay in fridge for maximum of twelve hours. Waiters shouldn't arrive so fast nor should food be so fresh and warm but Baba Yaga couldn't be bothered with reworking outline of building or remaking shift system so they simply told reality ''this is how it is going to work'' and well who is reality to argue? Magic, magic all time.
> 
> Ivan's reaction to meeting Vasilisa is pretty much what happens to everybody first time-you lose track of time and answer her questions, and often lose many inhibitions. As for how long Ivan was in there-time isn't really constant inside restaurant. depends on Baba Yaga's mood, chance and which part of building you are currently located in.
> 
> Yakanievna isn't real surname. It was originally Yaganievna but Cinderella, Vasilisa (and her doll) and Grey convinced Baba Yaga it was too obvious. Especially when you take in account how they called restaurant. So it was changed to Yakanievna, as k and g sometimes sound similar. Obviously, Baba Yaga were in very good mood to allow themselves to be bothered with such insignificant matters.


	8. Roommates and wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan meets his roommate. Grey panics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is really short but I couldn't write more. Sorry.  
> Some mentions of homophobia and forceful outing as well as family abuse. Also some shame about staring at naked man and being naked in front of others. Remember, Grey grew up centuries ago in country dominated by church's idealogies and Ivan grew up with less than stellar opinions of Vladimir.

''So you got the job. Congratulations. Vasilisa can be very strict.''  Mrs Zola said.

_(He won it on his own, by his knowledge and words, because he is a Hero and Quester and Third Son and Story demands for him to be tested, and no matter how much Vasilisa likes Ivans of before story would never allow her to accept him if he wasn't worthy, if he didn't know enough. If she tried it would wrap around her neck like noose, strong enough to snap it, and catch her tongue and make her speak proper words. No, Story wouldn't allow such breaking of rules even to her, to first little ash-girl, best beloved most dear for all it runs through her, because of her for her.)_

''Thank you. It wasn't so hard.''   _I had such luck to arrive her before spot was filled. When **I** got the job..._

He didn't question how Mrs Zola knew, or where she came from, just as he didn't question white gleam in her eyes and blobs of darkness at her edges.

''If you say so. Perhaps you just knew too much for interview to be hard.''  Mrs Zola answered, her voice cheerful whisper. Ivan blushed and ducked his head lower.

''So, I'm in ninth room on ninth floor, right?''

''Yes, you are. That is a very  good room.''

''Oh? Why? Thank you.''

''There is no need to thank anybody. It is because of numbers-triple three. Three is good number. Strong, important, proper number.'' Ivan smiled a little. _Not case with me_.'' Keeps out unwanted visitors. Those you don't want skulking in shadows around children and living. Far better than amulets or salt. Especially in here.''

''Are there many...unwanted visitors around?''

''No, they know to steer clear of proper businesses. And there are far less unwanted things than other kinds.''

''What are they? The unwanted visitors I mean? Can I recognize them? If I am allowed to ask, of course,''

''You can ask me many things. I am also consultant and guide, besides being housekeeper. As for such visitors...It isn't matter of what, but who. It all depends on choices and behaviors. Sometimes you can recognize them. Other times not so much. There are many of them in human world too.  Just as with wilder places. Many, but not too many.''

''I...I think I get it. Thank you for advice.''

''No need for so much politeness. I'm here to help.''

''Sorry.'' He said, ears bright red.

''No matter. So, did you take another job?''

''I did. Afternoon shift.  I don't know how to call it though? Caretaker maybe? I will be helping owners around house.''

''Ah. You will be companion to old Yakanievnas. Nice, nice. They need somebody to assist them. They  are very energetic and experienced ladies, but so old. They need somebody to help them around, but they are too proud to let me or Vasilisa take care of them. Terrible pride in three of them-not arrogance mind you, that pride is entirely deserved but still terrible.''

''Yakanievna? Are they related to Mrs Vasilisa?'' Prideful. That wasn't...well it wasn't bad for them, but he didn't do well with such people, for all he tried to stay out of way. he could imagine them being like his father, if bit older.

''Yes, she is their granddaughter. You could say leading this restaurant is family business.Five of us opened it together.''

''Are you Yakanievna too?'' This sounded exactly like his family. But they all were useful, unlike in case of Nikolaevich family. He wondered if Mrs Zola was Mrs Vasilisa's mother or elder sister- she didn't speak familiarity one would expect of such relation, but somehow they felt similar, as if there was something tying them together in their very essences.

He also wondered about mysterious old ladies he would have to meet. Mrs Zola called them Mrs Vasilisa's grandmothers-were two of them grandaunts? Did they adopt Vasilisa?

Or were they, like granduncles of one of his classmates lovers living under ruse of being relatives and roommates (he still remembered when news got hold of that, when every news portals wrote about relatives of _such_ family doing _that_ , things people wrote and said...poor old men didn't deserve that). It wasn't his place to ask, and of course he wouldn't dare ask ladies themselves, but still he wondered.

''I'm more something of distant cousin. Not close enough to have same surname, but close enough lo share home and business, and call them close friends.'' Which made them family, more than name and blood, though those were immensely important too, Ivan supposed. And given what Mrs Vasilisa and Mrs Zola were like, and...special not-shape  of building, he guessed ladies were magical too.

''What is your surname, Mrs...'' You always refer to people by some title and their surname, father's voice rang out.

''Pepelna. But freely call me Zola. And please without those titles-they make me uncomfortable.''

''Oh! I'm so sorry, please forgive me. I didn't mean to, can I make up-'' Father would have scoffed at ease with which she said she was uncomfortable. or perhaps not, as she was woman. Ivan was never really sure what applied solely to boys and what to girls.

''You don't have to panic Ivan. I didn't tell you, and you were just trying to be polite. Still, thank you for your concern. Do you have any other questions?'' Ivan wasn't sure whether she was genuine or if that was one of those polite rhetorical questions on which you were supposed to nod and say no unless you wanted to be laughed at and get dirty looks. It happened more often than not.

But then Mrs Pepelna- _Zola_ \- was guide and consultant and somehow she seemed to nice to act like that even if he made such big mistake. Maybe correct him, but not mock him. She seemed like sort of person you sent to talk with suicidal people. He almost didn't even fear making her angry.

''Yeah. What is my roommate like?'' He considered asking if his roommate was also magical, but then advice he received seared through his brain. If they were magical, he would find out (could he notice all these things because he was on the Quest? Or was that too part of Autumn's gift?). But finding out what they were was much more important. He needed to know what they were like so he could know which aspects of his behavior to control.

For moment he considered possibility that Mrs Zola- how unusual it was to refer to stranger, older person, his superior with their name, but not uncomfortable-might hint if said roommate was magical, but he dismissed thought. That was surely personal, and he doubted Mrs Zola would harm somebody's privacy like that.

''His name is Grey. He moved here from Germanschwauffre and works as security.'' Proper job for a young man, his father would say. Ivan didn't know restaurants had security.'' He is around your age, maybe few years older. Doesn't speak lot. He looks gruff and intimidating, but he is truly loyal friend and very affectionate once you get to know him. Bit impulsive and impatient though. i think you will get along splendidly.'' Ivan doubted that a little- he never seemed to do anything but annoy people- but only a little. Mrs Zola's voice made him believe it wouldn't be so bad, and he would believe her even if she said tat sky was purple with green spots, and he could see sky believing that too.

''Well, here we are.'' He wasn't aware they walked up the stairs, or even tired. He couldn't say how long corridor was, exactly how many doors and windows-which moved along with him -and appeared to show sea with mouths and black stars for second when he looked at them from right angle- were on that floor, nor could he gauge color of walls and doors. Only thing that was clear was golden number nine on doors.

''Thanks for guiding and talking and well everything M-Zola.''

''You are welcome Ivan. See you later.'' And then she blinked out of existence as Ivan knocked. Nobody answered. He knocked again. Maybe his roomate was listening to music or in bathroom or laid down to sleep (was it rude to knock in that case). Then he knocked third time. Like Mrs. Zola said, three was good number.  Again there was nothing. Ivan took out heavy iron key and turned it in the lock. He had to do so thrice. Figures.

Room was neither small nor big, neither dark nor light. It was pleasantly cool, and walls seemed to shift colors, even including some he had never seen before. There were two beds and two wardrobes, and one desk and window that showed parking and mountain of glass and copper. Ivan wasn't surprised to find his black bag on tidy bed. Other one had blankets and cloth hanging on floor. Next to it was white door presumably leading to toilet.

Perhaps his roommate worked. Ivan opened his bag and started taking out his clothes when he heard click and screech of doors. Ivan turned to face his roommate, tense smile on his face, speaking as he was turning.

''Hey, hello. Sorry for banging like this but I was knocking and...'' Ivan's voice stopped and his mouth was hanging open as he stared on his roommate, coming from bathroom with wet hair and only black boxers. He was tall, tallest person Ivan had ever seen, surely two meters tall. His abdomen was entirely flat and he appeared to have small four-pack. He had strong, solid and noticeable muscles, but not too big or bulging.  His torso resembled reversed triangle,  waist wasn't very wide, but not as slender as Ivan's, and he had healthy, pink skin. His chest was big and sculpted, with small nipples and lot of dark hair over it, and he was covered with small but noticeable amount of hair over his athletic limbs. His hair, brown with undertones of grey, was messy and thick, longer than usual,  falling little below his small, high ears but not touching his shoulders.

His face was square and long, with  tiny but thick beard over his strong jawline, as bushy as his short eyebrows and small eyelashes. His cheekbones were high and dull, and his eyes tiny, round hazel things, brown filled with hints of grey and green. And they were staring right at him. It couldn't have been more than few second, but to Ivan it felt like hours passed. Man's face was lost and frozen.

''Hi. I....''  He didn't get to say anything else as man charged at him, more or less picked him up by collar and threw him out before slamming door shut. So much for getting along.

* * *

 

He was here. He was here. He was here!

It was Ivan, he was sure of that. Even if he wasn't promised that Ivan would be his only roommate he would knows. Oh, he wasn't that tall or thin previous time, nor was his hair so short or face so triangular, and his blueish eyes now had green instead of grey shade to them and his voice wasn't so high and bright instead of being deep and raspy, but it was him. The way he held himself, how he spoke and his tense smile and wide eyes glancing left and right and how he had slunk and way his face froze and he would have to kill his brothers personally this time as well as that disaster of their father and he should be ready how isn't he ready he had almost two centuries to prepare oh god what did he do?

He fell on the doors. What did Ivan think? That he was some pervert? Rude enough not to answer knocking? Violent bully? Oh god oh god what if he hurt Ivan? What if he fell and broke bone? He had to go to help him but if he went out like this he would look like some perverted scum oh no...

''Just what did you do you utter fool? Is that how you treat guests?'' He heard squeaky voice coming from bathroom and watched as Vasilisa's doll jumped from mirror, marching like soldier across tiles to him, her carved face almost snarling, painted eyes almost narrowed and her wooden fingers flexing in fists. Anger radiated off her in such way that he was surprised something didn't catch on fire and that she didn't combust.

''Are you completely brainless? Throwing him out like that? As if he is some burglar? How are you planning on confessing to him? By throwing him off the roof? What are you going to do when you meet the girl? Throw her down the stairs?''

''I was surprised!''

''You were told he was coming!''

''I didn't want him to look! To think I was some pervert!''

''Oh he was liking the view, but that is another story. You now look like madman and good-for-nothing bag of bones and muscles that gets in fights without reason! We practiced meeting boy, we practiced for fifteen years! And what did you do? You are hopeless, hopeless! How do you children know nothing about proper behavior!''

Doll wasn't much bigger than  his palm, but as she was waving her fist Grey shrank under he words, his back still aching from  last time he tried to kick her. She may be small, but that wood of which she was made was hard enough to shatter steel, and she could kill man with slap.

''Now, as time is muddled enough for him not to leave while you are getting dressed, you will  normally hull him inside apologize and make introductions. And remember what lady Cinderella told you- boy remembers nothing, so no clinginess or flirting!'' Doll said as he nodded. Grumbling she walked away to bathroom and jumped in mirror.

_Dear God in Heaven, Vasilisa is never going to let me live this down._

* * *

 His roommate threw him out of their room. His tall, hot bearded rommate caught him by shirt and threw him out as if he was some mutt. Caught him by colalr and threw him out after he caught Ivan staring.

What did he do, he was utter fool! His roommate must have gotten why Ivan was staring-because nobody was as thick and socially inept as him and he always messed up and insulted people and now Grey must be thinking he is some sort of pervert and freak and what if he refuses to let him in and allow him to sleep and he has to leave and doesn't hear Forest and fails and Grey tells other people about him and word reaches his family and father will disown him and vasili will kill him and oh god what did he do...

Door opened and there was Grey, hair wet but completely dressed (how long was Ivan staring at door it didn't feel right he must be dressing very fast of course because he doesn't want pervert staring at him) in some thin, drab but comfortable leather and nice black shoes. His face was stony and flat as he reached for Ivan and stiffly grabbed him by shoulder, leading him to Ivan's bed before sitting on his own.

He was leaning forward, head and shoulders bent and fingers crossed, legs spread, looking straight through Ivan with those tiny, intense hazel eyes, a wolf waiting to lunge at his prey.. Ivan sat straight, stiff, arms on his legs as he stared at Grey's forehead, trying not to flinch at each blink nor crunch his nose at subtle smell of smoke and cigarettes.

''Hey you.'' Grey spoke, his voice deep, dark and heavy. he got up, eyebrows narrowed and almost touching, eyes like daggers, and crossed distance between them in one long stride. Then Grey rose his hand and Ivan immediately jumped back.

Grey was left with palm hanging in air. Seeing Ivan jump back something cold flashed through his eyes.

''I suppose you are my roommate and our new cook.'' Ivan nodded. Oh god he was going to break every bone in his body oh god on god.... Then Grey smiled, wide smile that went up above his teeth, more resembling baring of fangs.

''Sorry.'' Ivan was looking at him.

''For, um, throwing you out like some barbarian. What do you say we start again?'' Ivan's breath left him and he fell down on mattress as Grey stared with half smile frozen on his face.

''I hope that is yes?''

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cinderella s fake surname comes from one of russian words for ashes. Like I said obvious is obvious. She also isn't really fond of those self-deprecating jokes and constant apologies because she recognizes where they come from but knows she can't start talking about that yet.
> 
> Vasilisa's doll was created in time when laws of hospitality were practically holy, when refusing to host utter stranger in your home earned shame for entire line. As you can guess, throwing Ivan (who now shares half of flat) out at all is more or less sin in her book.  
> As for her anger-they have been preparing for this for almost 200 years and Grey-who spent those 200 years pining after Ivan and Elena/Anya has well manhandled Ivan out of room. And she already has low opinion of him (she is totally where Vasilisa picked that ''kids these days'' attitude from).
> 
> Also height chart- Ivan and Anya are both 183 cms, but Anya wears heels and Ivan doesn't walk straight  
> Gray- 2 meters  
> Cinderella-varies depending on person looking at her but to Ivan she appears to have 160 cms  
> Baba Yaga-varies on mood, seems to prefer gargantuan heights (kind that can stomp on Godzilla).
> 
> Ivan's voice could be classified as lyric teno  
> Thank you for reading hope you enjoyed it and please comment.


	9. Awkward barking

''Well at least everything is going smoothly now.'' Vasilisa said, sipping her tea, so warm it was scalding, hot enough to leave burns of third degree, but her porcelain skill remained pale and cold.

''Smoothly? Bah. That idiot scared poor boy to death. He had two centuries to prepare and was warned, and what did he do? Panic and throw poor child out like some barbarian Sceter!'' Sceter was, to Vasilisa's knowledge, a tribe that died out two thousand and four hundred years ago. Her doll liked to use it as insult.

''Now, don't be like that, Dolly. Grey is a boy in love, you know what they are like. And anyway, it was but a moment of weakness, and you know that two centuries are too short for something like that.'' Even if it was but tenth of her lifetime and she has never burned in such way ( rage and envy and joy and friendship all have consuemd and lighted her up, b, she understood that. Her doll mumbled and continued to eat cookies.

'' We can't expect everything to go perfectly. And though it may be bit awkward, it is fun and interesting thing to laugh about later. And perhaps it is for the best-otherwise, Ivan would have been too withdrawn to establish first contact, and Grey too worked up about not being too forward to try in first place.'' Cinderella spoke, bringing another batch of cookies. Vasilisa took them with grace her doll didn't bother with (centuries of experience have taught her that you never knew when famine will strike and manners were worthy sacrifice for fast and delicious meal, and she may not have needed to eat to survive but damn it she liked it and if anybody dared to comment they could find out how slap by wooden hand feels like), not even gazing at face so similar to her mother's (but older, so so much older, billions stretching deep and deep into the infinity) and doll stared at funny sight of ancient, carved, half burned tree handing them cookies.

''Pffft. Excuses, all of them.'' Vasilisa laughed at sight of her doll sniffing her barely carved nose up in air, like some grande dame, her voice like hollow, silver bells.

''Anyway, now they are together and Story can properly kick in motion. We only need them to meet Anya too and we are halfway there.'' She doesn't acknowledge she said similar thing so many times across centuries, only frown when Cinderella extinguishes a candle flame and transports seeming mirror somewhere else in labyrinth of hut's chambers and hallways and universes (she didn't move a finger or speak a word, but Vasilisa felt world around her creak and bend as Cinderella's magic bent it to her will, felt ash in her mouth and cold glass on her fingers and warm wool over her shoulders as flame was snuffed out with no smoke left behind, as mirror went away in blink) .

''Really? It was just going to get good.'' Vasilisa asks-she doesn't whine, of course not, but it has been two centuries of waiting and preparation after all. She is entitled to seeing how it progresses.

''No spying unless it's life-death-emergency or trip to Forest. People need to have their private time.'' Vasilisa would have said to Cinderella to take it up to Baba Yaga,  if she wasn't aware how childish it was. Baba Yaga knowing what everybody was doing was fact more stable then that fire was hot.

''But what if Grey messes it up again?'' Vasilisa asked as doll smugly grinned (as much as wooden statue can grin) and nodded.

''Weren't you one who was sure everything was  going perfectly a few minutes ago?'' Cinderella countered with small smile, her brown eyes (same as that of Vasilisa's father) sparkling.

''Please, Cinderella, we can never be sure. He may need help?'' Vasilisa asked with widest smile she could muster.

'' Then he can ask us for it.'' Her smile never wavered.

''But maybe he will be too embarrassed to ask for it?'' It could happen, of course.  Grey was awfully proud ( unlike Vasilisa, who in her opinion at least was delightfully humble).

''You realize how unsettling your insistence on spying on people is?'' Damn. She shouldn't have raised that argument against an empath like Cinderella. And of course, even if they didn't have somebody like her to help out, Baba Yaga would know and tell them what happened. Spying wasn't necessary when they had an omniscient creature among them, but Baba Yaga had no time for humor ( well not one that didn't include guts and blood at least) and romantics. Their account would be...less then detailed and juicy.

''Yes.'' Vasilisa choose to abandon pretense.

''Well, if you are so invested in other people's lives, try watching some romantic comedy. Or maybe a soap opera. We didn't have cable television set up for nothing.'' After hundreds of complaints by many, many workers Cinderella convinced Baba Yaga to have it installed. She even managed to stop Baba Yaga from eating said workers.

''That sacrilege? Complete waste of time, money and effort. Why have such badly written mess when you can sit around camp fire and listen to war songs?'' Doll said that with certainty of an aged warlord, and nobody wanted to point out logistic problems of having wooden figurine so close to fire, just like nobody asked for clarification when doll started speaking about best ways to bloodily humiliate invading tribe.

''Yes! Exactly! It is all badly written and what fun is watching it if you can't interfere?'' Surely Cinderella would understand. Three of them, all so awkward and hopeless without their help- at very best left with empty, void lives, at worst....

''Ýou are not being fair. There are many works with compelling plots and characters.'' Trust Cinderella to stray from their topic into something completely meaningless that was half joke, half stupid excuse.

''And you are already playing matchmaker, you don't need to spend every moment watching them. I doubt either of them would be pleased at finding out what you are doing.'' Vasilisa knew that. She also knew that she was incredibly bored and wasted centuries preparing for this day. Boredom, when you were semi-immortal was one of highest problems and generally led to at least one destroyed kingdom before you found outlet for it .

''Now, if you would excuse me, I need to go. I have something to do.'' Cinderella said, finishing ordering cookies around tray in winking face.

''Which dimension are you visiting now?''  ''People'' like Baba Yaga and Cinderella, Vasilisa learnt over her two thousand years of experience, had trouble in seeing difference from walking to another street and hopping all over multiverse.

'' This one. I'm just going to church on other side of town.'' Cinderella spoke, dusting her hands on her black cloak.

''Talking with Masha again?'' Wherever she went, Cinderella was helping people and mostly advising children, as Story demanded so from her. Masha was only one of about fifty children in this town who received help from Cinderella. Vasilisa couldn't understand how Cinderella could manage to be so nice without her teeth rotting.

''Yes. Goodbye for now, see you later.'' And in shadows she vanished, her form losing solid shape, bleeding out in darkness.

Vasilisa was never big on Christianity, priests or religion in general, but she couldn't help but feel for poor priests who held lectures with Cinderella present. There was something...deep, high, _else_ about her that came out in sacred spaces. Vasilisa remembered one foray in past when two of them attended ritual in celebration of Mokosh. As prayers and hymns went on, and libations were poured, Cinderella looked older, harder, more and more like statue of temples, until priestess leading ritual stammered and Cinderella seemed to be made out of earth and sky.

Vasilisa wondered if Masha when talking to Cinderella saw shadows of burning wings and eyes within wheels.

''Are we going to search for mirror or you will narrate to me?'' Vasilisa could conjure in fire, scry and tell doll what happened, but it wasn't really fair at all.

''Nah. We are going to find it. She couldn't have put it anywhere dangerous.'' And they got up and went out of room.

But they took cookies first. It would be sin to waste them.

* * *

 

The bed was comfortable, Ivan realized.

Now, there was nothing strange with it. Plenty of beds were nice and comfy, he thought. Sinking down in mattress, putting head on pillow, covering yourself with beautiful sheets, feeling them press and wrap around you as they crinkled and moved and you gently went off in nap... He liked sleeping, on comfortable bed most of course, though any sleep was good provided it didn't bring nightmares but even then it was healthy for body and where was he going with it anyway?

Thing was, different people had different views on what constituted comfortable. Some people liked their sheets thick, others  thin. Some loves smooth sheets, others rough blankets. Some liked their beds warm, others cool. Some liked hard mattresses, others soft. There was no universal agreement, no bed that could fit everybody.

And yet this one managed it.

Ivan couldn't describe it at all. Not volume, not temperature, not texture, not weight, not even color or shape. He simply felt good laying at it. When he tried to picture bed, his mind drew a blank-an outline, vague shape, nothing else.

Floor and walls and roof were same- they somehow lacked color and yet still he couldn't see through it. He couldn't even describe shape of apartment, nor where the window(s) was/were located, nor what they looked out to. He knew they were there but couldn't accurately describe them, as if he was constantly on verge of remembering memory running from him, or as if he was reading book in which author refused to use even one adjective or figure of speech.

And entire thing felt _old_. No, not old, but deeper, vaster than ancient. It weighted on him with strength of mountains, eons like grains of sand in desert pressing on him, corpses of buried tales  whispering of uncountable people that walked these halls, of ancient wars and forgotten dreams. It felt as if it was beyond this world, this existence, and yet somehow still connected to it. Similar to Forest, but much, much more ancient. It felt like an unborn idea, piece of inspiration and desire that still hasn't been formed in true work, a clay or wood  that won't be shaped or carved in statue for some time, or figure left unfinished.

It felt like world that was still a draft in plans of it's God.

''I hope that is yes?'' Heavy, deep bass cut through air, quiet and rough voice of somebody used to smoking that was barely few points above  sound of nails on chalkboard on scale of most unpleasant sounds, snapping him from his thoughts to rise look upon his roommate.

Grey ( Ivan sincerely doubted that was anywhere close to his name, but given everything he saw so far chances Grey was magical were...well he couldn't calculate them in percents but pretty high, and from what Autumn told him magical creatures- _people_  , hid their names for good reason so he would have to take care not to mention it which wouldn't be all that different from all rules you had to follow among people) sat on his bed, stiff as statue, and leather tightly clung to him in way that Ivan had to take great care not to stare at that well defined chest or wide shoulders or fact he was so tall Ivan's forehead barely reached his chin.

"Yeah... Yeah it is. Of course. Thanks. I'm sorry about barging in like that." Behind his back, Ivan's fingers grasped sheets. Grey was very very nice. Ivan knew, just as he knew that he was dumb and clumsy and Vasili good at everything and father was always right that staring like that and being so stupid to walk in like that ensured he get fist to face at least.

But then, considering his luck and that Grey was big enough to snap him in half like toothpick it was most likely Grey simply didn't notice.

"Great. It was my fault anyway, walking around like that. And you already explained." It was weird seeing Ivan with short hair. But that speech was familiar, for better or worse.

"No, no it was...." Ivan looked slightly panicked, with chest furiously rising and falling, his sickly skin so pale Grey could clearly  see web of veins, that his many freckles looked like chernozem on it (he didn't have them previous time, Grey just realized, which was strange because how didn't he notice them taking up third of his face? Was it memory cloaking his eyes or was he too blinded by everything else beautiful on Ivan), so familiar like every time Ivan talked with men (but Grey remembered that first time they met, he so tall and strong, wolf with fangs and maws strong enough to swallow horse at all and yet Ivan met his eyes with curious fascination).

"No, it was me. I'm bit...awkward, I was told. Normally not that much but normally I'm not walking almost nude in front of gorgeous people." As Ivan's eyes went wide and face pink Grey grimaced and ducked his head down, sweating. _Smooth move Grey, so smooth and subtle._

"..... Well, you can't more than me." Ivan whispered staring down at his feet. This was second time somebody- a guy-anybody told him looked good in a day ( or since he could remember right now which didn't matter much since his memory was so spotty anyway). But at least this time he wasn't called pretty even if gorgeous was too much (or nice, or solid, or passable too).

" We'll see. So got any question Ivan? About work, shifts, anything." He spat out, grinning bit too forced, trying to pick up new conversation.

"Oh yes. I wasn't aware I told you my name though." It was half  musing, half awkward and as organic and believable as plastic. Ivan was aware his memory was bad and that he needed father to manage things, but he also knew that this time he didn't forget, and he knew he should be panicking about some magic guy knowing his name (given at least, and it should have been in heart and soul too but it didn't feel wholly right only halfway).

But Grey seemed nice and Ivan figured he could find out how he knew his name as long as he was careful how he worded his not-questions. And if stories and Autumn showed him anything it was that  magic had rules and as long he figured them out he was safe.

Grey's eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes puzzled and unsure, as he opened and closed mouth without actually producing any words, as if he was repeating what Ivan said in himself ( maybe he didn't recognize some word? Ivan often couldn't handle it and he was native speaker. Perhaps he should offer to-) before his eyes went wide as plates and he looked around before grasping his wrist that bore tiny watch and almost running out.

"Excuse me for leaving, didn't notice it is night already. My shift is starting, nice to meet you, save questions for later!" He said as he run out.

It was supposed to be one p.m. according to Ivan's phone. Numbers switched to 19:10 as blue sky outside became dark as pitch. As this he couldn't stop himself from rubbing his eyes. Once he was finished he looked back at Grey's bed.

_Pity his shift started so soon. He seemed fun._

_Well, working with these time conditions will be interesting at least._

_But everything will be okay as long as I don't run in some chicken legged huts._

* * *

 

Vasilisa and her doll were sitting on corpse of radioactive dragon-dinosaurus hybrid in middle of rainforest, watching everything from mirror (they managed to catch correct time loop but it cost them Vasilisa's silk and butterfly dreams overcoat which she was going to make Cinderella pay for somehow). Vasilisa was loudly laughing while doll was holding her face by her hands.

"That dog is hopeless."

* * *

 

"What's wrong, Auntie Zola?" Masha asked, peering at  tall, plump old woman sitting at bench next to her, cross dangling in air as her head tilted up (Masha swore she could see shadow of halo,  and three more faces, that of ox, lion and eagle).

"Nothing, Masha. It is just that some people need to find less disturbing ways to relieve boredom."

"Is your cousin  again shipping real people?"

"Yes."

"She needs help."

"So I am saying last...oh how many years was it again?"


	10. Dreams, rising, falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans dream and remember and hope, while they watch and wait and hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is tenth chapter. To be honest it is rather short and more of filler but I'm drowning in school and family responsibilities so I just felt need to put something out to prevent ideas from growing stale and sitting on and never going on with this story, no matter how much slow it is. That is more or less same reason why I don't edit much- I don't have enough time so i write and edit as long as have energy for story.  
> Big thanks to theredlipstickkisses/owldork1998/inkwellveins for bearing with me. They are an amazing friend.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it, please comment.

_Wolf is great, grey thing, bigger then horse, so strong and heavy that roots snap below him.  He runs as fast as wind, his prince and tsarevna seated on his back,  chasing gleaming trail through darkness, Firebird burning dim and yellow, song coming from her swan neck beautiful enough to rival Alkonost, peacock feathers shining like candles in shadows._

_Always running, never stopping._

* * *

_The horse is an extraordinary breed, thing of gold and copper and swift legs and strong muscles, of breeze and magic, and tsarevich holds on his beloved queen’s waist as they ride on and on (there is always horse, no matter how the rest goes. people seem to like magical horses and Story will give it to them when they ask)._

_There are brothers, often. Two elder, in fact._

_We all know how it ends._

* * *

 

_The tsarevich sleeps. Ground may not be as soft as his bed back-not home, but place where he grew up, his father’s palace- but earth is soft, softer then he would have expected, and tiny blades of grass are soft and gentle as blanket. His sleep is deep and content._

_Brother’s sabre comes down, and grass turns red as head rolls down._

* * *

 

_They laugh, the new tsar and his new tsarevna, her eyes as green as that of frog skin she sued to bear, celebrating their anniversary. Tsar (once tsarevich, of course, third one), raises cup and takes sip of wine._

_He tastes not poison it is laced with._

* * *

 

_The last of three enchantresses  climbs by rope, and third tsarevich waits, hesitation stopping him from climbing, guilt eating him away ( plan forms in his mind, stone wrapped for rope, waiting to see, if it will be cut, if he will survive) and he reaches for rock but guilt is too strong and so he climbs._

_Brother’s knife cuts strong rope and young man falls down on sharp, sharp stones._

* * *

 

_They fly above sea._

_The tsar Eagle is strong, and fast, and he flies high and high, and for moment it looks as if they have escaped her father, and they laugh and cry and kiss sitting on soft golden-brown feathers, and for moment everything is right and beautiful and as it should be, but Vasilisa’s father is wizard and tsar of sea and he chants spell and water and salt rise high above and drag them down, down, down, because if he can’t claim them as his belongings then better they die then be free and they don’t even get to drown because they fall and break and skin tears and blood joins water..._

_Jealous bastard, liar claiming to be hero cuts his head off,  and how many are such out there, how many heroes claimed fame by lies and blood and  murder of forgotten champions, he murders him and throws him to sea, as his brothers threw him below earth and he twists princess’s arm and forces her to swear  a Oath and goes off to his fame while her tsarevich rots at bottom of sea._

* * *

 

_The Koschei is dead but it doesn’t matter really. The tsarevich’s eyes are pale and lost, for it isn’t place of men to come back from death._

_He walks into Forest in night._

* * *

 

_Tale repeats, over and over, Story grinding on world, having them play out same steps,  follow same lives._

_Thousands of kings had three sons._

_Thousands of tsars demanded they undergo Quest._

_Thousands of tsarevichs rode on._

_Thousand great  tsarevnas married kind man._

_Thousands tsarevnas held courts and waged wars and imprisoned monsters._

_Thousands young men went on Quest to save their wives._

_Thousands  heroes  walked Forest._

_Thousands boys bargained._

_Thousands brothers murdered Ivan._

_The tale says, they lived happily forever until they died. The history says he died, betrayed by kin, and she was abducted and took throne for her own and was hated by people._

_Story doesn’t know what to choose, what pattern to follow._

* * *

 

_The Forest rises and he rides through it._

_He is different each time, through centuries, more or less in body, little in spirit, greatly in dress, sleeves long or short or warm or cold or treaded with gold or fur, knives or swords or sabers or axes or bows or clubs or spears or nothing but stones, and he may be tall or short or with long beard or clean shaved or with eyes green or brown and his voice may be deep or high and he may fear darkness or hunting dogs and humans may leave in great castles and figuring out guns or in caves and trying to shape rocks but it matters not for Forest knows his soul and it remembers him, time isn’t enough to make it forget, it has grown on day when sunlight first hit surface of newly-formed Earth and it will live until it crumbles in dust, it has seen continents form and shift and crush and sink, it has seen empires come and go and marches against them and it will see it all happen once again._

_It welcomes him, and waits to see whether it should crown him with flowers or sink his bones in it’s floor._

* * *

 

_Three brothers dance through darkness before his sleeping eyes, thousand faces changing, shifting, yet  they are same, their souls new but remaining as they have always been, changed but with threads of fate too thick and strong to rip, three shadows treaded with gold, more following in their wake._

_The first is tall, and strong, all old bronze and blood red, the massive, hulking shape of hunter screaming, hitting, father’s heavy, rich hand on shoulder in favor, bloodied crown (as they often are) just out of reach, sword or dagger or lance or gun or morningstar or stone in hand who smash all who dare try to claim it, even kin._

_The second is cunning, and would make wise king were his heart softer, balanced and lean outline of politician and sage, shining brown and midnight blue figure of speaker calmly looking at world and asking why should they care for sorrow of ‘’useless’’ men, anger bubbling and cowardice running deep, thinking himself kind for he doesn’t swing blade, just stands by and watch._

_Third is runt of litter ,the child disappointment, the shameful  son,  the lost cause, slight and thin and bent and shivering, jewel blue and leaf green shade whispering and dancing at edge, trying to break from circle one moment, hiding from tsar’s eye, other trying to bind himself more tightly and turn father’s head his way, willing to let his head roll for sake of appreciative smile._

_The father is tsar, old and strong, heavy and brazen, ringleader and darkness standing above them all, ruby red and storm grey robes choking his sons, gleaming crown giving him right to command their lives, eldest at right with hand on his shoulder, second standing straight next to tsar, youngest kneeling below his feet as father demands Quest._

_The tsarevna breaks the cycle, tearing through them, worn silver and  sweet darkness, woven of smoke and iron, cold and burning at same time, strong as mountains, cunning as fox, untamable as wolf.  She is sorceress, warlord, philosopher, seamstress, depending on what she needs and wants, and they may call her bitch and witch and ice queen but she sees truth._

_The once wolf now prince is newest, least changed, bound to one tale (though he draws strength from older, deeper archetype, as they all do), sitting between roles, wine burgundy and dust grey his shifting shape, man to wolf to horse to woman to wolf once again, advice spewed by bloodied tongue, loyalty running through his very bones._

_The gold runs through them all, binding, choking, weighening them all down, having them play out their roles like strings of puppets. Three sons, with falling favor, a father issuing quest, parting, beast offering help, wise tsarevna issuing orders and demands of her own, dragons and sorcerers and thousand monsters and betrayal  then, then it all breaks down......_

_And tale begins anew._

* * *

 

_They walk on, all sleepers from every point of time and space (and outside of it too some even). Living and dead, humans and animals and plants and microbes, undead and giants and dragons and monsters, young and old, men and women, joyous and grieving, sure and lost, saints and sinners, they all come all over  from Earth (solar system-galaxy-dimension-realm-reality-universe-multiverse-superverse-metaverse-omniverse-world-Creation.....), driven by need for dream they will forget, all to speak with one who will reveal all their good deeds, who will  lend advice, who will chastise them for their faults._

_Only here, in front of justice and conscience (and death, of course), in front of blind thing of ash and glass they are all equal._

* * *

 

‘’It seems stupid to me to dream something that is supposed to be important and then forget it immediately.’’  Vasilisa speaks (never asks), not taking her eyes off from cloak of dew and moonlight she is sewing, while babushka sit(s) on creaking rocking chair that suspiciously resembles bone, in middle of strange void that exists on account of both light and darkness being too afraid to be next to Baba Yaga, action floor would have repeated if individual in question wasn’t staring at it, and wisely it decided freeze was better answer then flee (things that old and hungry loved chasing, you see, and fight was never in question).

‘’People forget dreams all the time. Nothing extraordinary about that.’’  The power bearing shape of crone says, stringy hair colour of frozen milk falling behind her (them, truly) on floor (without being dirtied, for smallest atoms and grains of dust and grimes don’t dare touch it), ancient eyes closed and head held back so thin nose could poke unfortunate roof, wrinkled skin brown and grey and green like wood trying to grow on cold, barren mountain seeming to shift and move and wriggle like eels on sand as claws sharp enough to tear apart time grasp bony chair, voice shiver of  winter wind and wolf howls.

‘’ But this is no foolish dream. This is a vision.’’ As if it matters to tired mind. As if cold and hungry and sleeping wouldn’t forget even greatest secrets,  and she is too young to know that though she thinks herself old and wise, and maybe she is but everything is relative and some would say those visions are no more important then any other dream.

‘’People have forgotten greater things. They will forget grander visions, and remember tiny nonsenses. So it is with them. they were always capricious ones, dreams and memories. Bad when they mix, too similar.’’ Dreams and memories and stories, what mortal life and layer is woven off. Vasilisa never had much patience for such things, believed in cold, hard, clean facts. If something is important, it should be remembered. But their girl doesn’t know she too forgets dreams, dreams all living things share, dreams of thing whose role she inherited, which sleeps in Vasilisa’s shadow.

‘’I just don’t see why Story  is set on giving him those visions when he is unable to remember them. It seems useless.’’ Five, ten centuries ago she would have sighed. But she learnt that there is no arguing with babushkas when they are set on something, and they likely won’t agree out of spite, which makes them right-what Baba Yaga wants and believes Is (the sky wasn’t always blue, and stars didn’t always shine during night, nor was sea always full of salt, nor did rain always come from above). She doesn’t  see what he dreams-nor wants to, for that is too private even for her- but she knows his night are filled with Story and his past lives from babushka and Cinderella’s words.

‘’It doesn’t always have reason. It follows it’s nature, as it must, and logic be damned.’’ Baba Yaga said and something in air hummed with pleasant tone, sunlight coming bright and clean from darkness and sweet aroma filling air signs of their pleasure. Baba Yaga took pride in not approving of most things, and logic and cause and effect were high on that list, which was one  of reasons they tolerated Story ( Baba Yaga also took pride in not loving things, but tolerating them at best, which possibly lucky individuals, creatures and phenomenons like Vasilisa, Choda Yoda, cats, Story, Sun, day and night always accepted as truth and never dared imply that Baba Yaga harbored any sort of pleasant feelings and caring).

‘’So it is part of those rules again.’’ Rather annoying, in Vasilisa’s opinion. Anything that limited freedom was at best irritating in her eyes, which was part and parcel of why she became witch, as witchcraft at it’s heart consisted of breaking all sorts of rules, both social and physical. But stories and elements and Primordials run on rules, and Baba Yaga tolerated them because they were polite enough to earn their favor and sensible enough not to imply that they applied to Baba Yaga in any way.

‘’Could be. May not be.  Perhaps some others. Life and death, story and dreams, they are all tricky bunch. It is possible something could have carried over from previous lives. Usually something leaves imprint on soul, so they tend to remember some of crucial events. Or at least remember remembering something. Story sometimes helps, as it makes life follow pattern, so memory isn’t altered too much.’’ Memories are so easy to lose in rebirth. In ordinary life too. After all, mortals don’t remember what happened, but what they think happened. memories, images, connections, all broken down and remade upon  recalling, each one unique. Only Primordials remember things  as they truly happened-though they slip sometimes too. And Baba Yaga are older then memory and reckoning of anything  and remembering.

‘’So it has no particular use.’’ Vasilisa  says, finishing patterns, weaving light in water and watching it break in hundred soft, pale colors. The water swirls and whirls between her fingers, bound in shape so strong that not molecule is left on skin, bound by spells mankind has forgotten and knowledge it has never been taught. After all, dew could never work as thread, for it is not in water’s nature to be bound and stopped, but with magic and lessons from babushka and handmaidens of Mokosh and certain spider she is almost sure was cursed by goddess well...

‘’Oh, it does. Everything always has some use. Visions, curses, blood, pain, fear, choice. Now whether it is sensible or not, well that is still matter to be argued about.’’ The voice is deep, deeper then sea, heavier then gravity or regret, and their eyes are faraway and something strange is moving through them, like predator in trenches of ocean, or shapeless, primordial beast that wanderer chaos that was before universe, and small part of Vasilisa remembered  what she was centuries ago, before her name was carved white hot in minds of all her people, before Vasilisa became synonymous  with heroine, being tiny, scared girl clinging to doll as gigantic crone before her feasted on flesh that struggled and moved and screamed.

‘’ It is dreamed and forgotten. But not. It remains in subconscious, influencing, leading without him realizing. Buried deep in center, in core of  personality, past those lies and nonsenses he had been fed and bound by. Not easy to spot, to notice, or to know for him that he has it, but seed is buried and waiting. And when time comes for some choice, it can guide, it can make him hesitate next time they speak, make him doubt them and weaken those bonds, erode them with time and guidance. It is more then most get.’’

And guidance he will get, oh yes. They will make sure of it. His wolf-idiot, to love and help. His tsarevna-gnat, to love and have them face truth.  They are annoying but three of them will work well together, though Baba Yaga think man graced to be tolerated by  them shouldn’t settle for such no-good useless lowlifes, but it is not their place to choose where his heart wanders.

Her handmaiden, fire seamstress to  befriend and advise. The ash-thing, to trust and understand (who better then that being of dust and cinder and refusal to break to understand, first of them all, first to suffer, to be betrayed in such way, to be abused when child needs love). And they, three-who-are-one, crone of bony legs and iron teeth, to test and aid.

The rest, of course, is on him, to travel and face monsters, whether they be dragons or  kin.

‘’I still maintain that if it isn’t obvious and direct, it is unhelpful.’’ Never had much use for things like that, offering minimum of help and hoping all goes well. But she learnt to hold her tongue, first under her stepmother’s  ( _hers, hers, it was her home, that woman came in her family, bought it with her father’s money, and if Vasilisa wasn’t part of that house no matter how much she cleaned it and spent imprisoned there then it could go up in flames_ , she often thought as girl, looking in bronze mirror when she managed to hide away and convince herself not to break), and then as servant under grandmother of witches, and then as tsarevna. You needed to know when to hold your tongue and wait for opportunity.

‘’Bah. That  mangy mutt-brat is being bad influence again. We don’t like disrespect or cheekiness.’’ It is a joke, pretending to be grumpier then they are usually, and Vasilisa knows that if they were really displeased, world would shudder at fear of babushka’s irritation. It is game they often play, but line is still thin one.

‘’Well, I don’t believe likes of him can have any influence on me, but you are welcome to try to correct it.’’ She says, rising head to meet those shifting, ancient eyes that watched stars be born.

They don’t call her Vasilisa the Brave for nothing. She has always loved playing with fire.

* * *

 

The alarm is set early, for he is forgetful and lazy never gets time right no matter how much times his father repeats it he never remembers, and half of it is habit and half is wish not to embarrass himself too badly on his first day.

He picked worst bell offered on phone. The loud, shrill ringing that went on and on, seemingly growing higher and higher, it’s screaming feeling like razor wires across his eardrums, so that he would be sure to wake, even if it involved headache and sometimes crying.

Even with alarm sleep is slow to lose it’s hold on him. No matter what movies tell you, person can’t just wake up and immediately get up, even from nightmare (exception, of course, being magical dreams, and witches especially, because magic never got hang of ‘’impossible’’ and ‘’it doesn’t work like that’’ and witches are almost as hard to herd as cats. Almost). Instead, as horrible noise sears through his skull like nail, his mind floats up to waking world, sleep  passing like water through fingers, slowly, gradually, but without hope of remaining.

Ivan’s eyelids open and flutter, slow and heavy, as he lays splayed on bed he can’t quite see or describe, comfortable and yet shapeless blanket kicked off as his legs and arms spread and hog over pillow and matress, his sleeping clothes little sticky with sweat, sight wobbly and shift as his brain, not truly awake yet, refuses to process most of information from his surroundings (not that there is lot, in this half-created space), and probably wouldn’t recognize his own name if it was shouted from rooftops. He just stares through strange window and watches night leave to let day take it’s place. The black turns purple and dark blue and withdraws as soft blue and white, smoky clouds fill sky.

For moment, sky is empty of color, and there are just two riders, midnight black and star showered and milk white and dimly shining, riding across sky, travelling from horizon to building. A blink, and sky is same, and all is forgotten.

The ringing continues, shrill and screaming, pounding unto his head, and though his limbs feel like clay covered wood he rises from bed, back faintly protesting, to grab phone and turn blasted thing off.

06:03. He had to be down at kitchen at 07:00. He was glad he remembered that without looking up in notes. Being late was always unacceptable but being late for first day was ground for being fired. Being fired on it’s own was pretty bad but from this place...

_What if Forest doesn’t allow me to come back?_

He shook his head-no use worrying over what could be and if. _Head out of clouds, boy, think of present and get to work._ He had to shower first-he couldn’t come in smelly and sweaty, his coworkers would probably immediately throw him out. Perhaps he should also shave.

He traced his hands over cheek and chin. _Nope_. The hairs were thin and short yet, folding under his fingers, and given how light they were they would blend in. And it wasn’t good for man to be too shaved and smooth either. getting up and walking over to wardrobe (which he wasn’t sure exactly where it was located, only it _was_ in room) that contained his travelling bag, he run circles over his chin, feeling few sharp, harsh hairs scrape against soft skin of his fingerpads. It was weird but very pleasing feeling, rough and prickly touch turning pale skin pink as roses.

It was embarrassing, but there was nobody around to see. Grey ( _what a weird name_ ) wasn’t around, which made room uncomfortably silent and familiar, but it didn’t matter. He worked night shift, and probably spent afternoon sleeping and early morning with friends, walking around city.

Still, it would have been nice to talk with him-or at least attempt to.

His head still ached, but he ignored it as he took out shampoo and  clothes for work-practical and nice but still formal enough, placed with rest of such clothes in middle of bag. A fat fly came down on his palm, between knuckles of index and third finger, round, green and brown, fractured wings breaking light in several color like prism. He smiled as he took clothes and went inside bathroom, watching cute insect fly up and return to his body.

he locked door and watched as it faded in wall before placing clothes he would put on in lavabo-he checked first if it was dry, and shed his sleepwear on carpet. Fly went off in air, as if it knew what he would do.

_Oh good. It has doors_. Ivan thought, watching cabin whose size he couldn’t guess before stepping in. He didn’t trust himself not to spill water, and he didn’t have enough time to clean it up, and he couldn’t leave things for his roommate to clean up.

As cool water dribbled down his body, and he spread thick green liquid and watched it turn to soap and bubbles and foam, feeling soft, uneven hairs on back of his neck and bones under chalky skin, Ivan thought back on things he needed.

Golden apple. Well, he needed to find out what was considered true golden apple by it. Was it just shining yellow skin? Or like golden statue? Because you could find such things on market too.  Perhaps, given it could be found in Forest it was made of edible gold that obviously grew on trees. So, he needed to find out what exactly was golden apple and convince whoever had it to give it up. Even tree it was growing on-if it did indeed grow.

Second, scale of dragon. Here was problem again-there was so much unfortunately unknown about dragons. The great gift he got from Tsar of Snakes could serve him well, but how would he have anything to bargain for with dragon? Stories that claimed dragons were as smart as men always said they had castles and servants and piles of treasures. As for ones that weren’t so smart, well even if he understood it how could he bargain with beast like that? Food was always good way to win animal’s heart, but how was he supposed to get enough food for something that big.

Fighting was out of question, of course. Even talking with one could be dangerous-animals were risky for those that didn’t know how to deal with them (which Ivan definitely didn’t) and he supposed that dragons who could understand men were just as likely to be hard to understand and short tempered.

Though, he wondered as he washed his back, investigating dragons would be fun. Where did biology end and magic begin. How could creatures that big fly? Did they have hollow bones? Or super big and strong wings? Did they breathe fire because of magic, or did they contain some sort of glands that produced gas that was flammable in contact with air ( and how they regulated it’s production)?  And in case of dragons that had several heads-how did their nervous systems work? Were heads separate individuals or one and same? Often dragons were depicted as lizard-like, and, if he remembered correctly, words for dragon and snake came from same root. Perhaps dragons shed their hides too? Maybe then it wouldn’t be so hard to fulfill that request....

Now, hair of Forest witch. That would be hardest. It was same as dealing with humans, only that these humans had magic, notoriety for not listening to anybody, and were insane from living in Forest. he didn’t know a lot about them, so he tried to remember all he learnt and heard over years.  People didn’t talk a lot about them, but everybody knew something.

Ordinary witches weren’t so bad, once you forgot all tales people used to tell you as kid. After all, most witches and wizards and sorceresses wanted just to live their lives alone, and were perhaps more antisocial and secretive then it was common. He remembered that in long time ago, every village had witch, and quite few nobles hired court mages. Then, few centuries ago Arcanist Enclave was formed, to control sorcerers from all over world .

Enclave searched for and trained those with ability to perform magic. They protected important places and people from magical attacks (it always seemed weird to him, that not all were important enough to defend) and dealt with magical criminals. They dealt with ghosts, vampires, rusalkas, all sorts of magical creatures that sometimes plagued people. They were responsible for most of technological advances made over last thousand years, including electricity and internet. They were ones who originally built cities and extended them when it was needed. They created routes that allowed travel over world. They kept eye on Forest. All in all, very good and useful people.

In fact, he suspected he met few already, and would meet more in future. Mrs. Vasilisa  and her grandmothers (they had to be witches to own place like this) and Mrs. Zola ( though she felt, in his mind, not right, not witch but something else) obviously weren’t cursing up people and brewing poisons, else their restaurant would have been shut down already. They were normal and nice.

But sometimes you got dangerous ones, bad ones, crazy ones, who helped and harmed  people depending on how they felt. If not caught, they run to Forest, where they were transformed in something as human as wolves and as sane as chicken with rabies.  Since magic didn’t work in Forest, they used herbs and stones to craft potions and poisons, charms and amulets-or made bargains with... _things_ for power. They would probably be  more dangerous then dragons if not for three things-their normal size, their human lifespans, and fact they were much easier to dispose of.

You couldn’t kill dragon without help of magic, trickery and great strength. Forest witch on other hand, well-you closed the door of oven and didn’t pay attention to screams and pleas.

All but one. Bathroom seemed so darker, water so colder, at thought of Her, of ancient thing that haunted and ruled these lands before first men walked over Rustaya’s soil, reigning in heart of Forest like tsarevna. Monster that haunted nightmares of all children, hungry  creature of iron teeth and bony legs and-and-and.....

His knees were shaking, and he was breathing heavily as he wrapped arms around himself, panting as he tried not to think, to push down that primal fear, fear of blood and hunger and fangs....

_Stop it idiot. Not as you are going to run in Her of all witches in world._

* * *

 

Grey run.

His paws crushed leaves, his saliva coated fangs and fur, his tail waged left and right as he run through woods, his shape that of giant wolf.  The crone broke curse placed on him, but let Story work it’s will on him.

People believed in tales. Loved them, learned them over and over, and so magic born from all that faith, all those feelings demanded that tales based on their lives play out again and again. You could follow their design, learn rules and use them to your advantage, or be used.

Prince cursed as wolf would have to become beast once more and run. Tsarina kidnapped would be taken and captured over and over. Siblings separated would be parted and rejoined through ages.  Knight  in shining armor would forever fight dragons and monsters. Girl who was daughter and servant and  weaver and queen would return with doll and skull to keep tidy legged hut in which she earned fire. Fairest of them all would always run, pursued by mirror queen.

Grey stopped, panting and tired, and laid down on earth. Forest was dark and deep, but once it was walked through it would never again reject those that survived. he breathed slowly, inhaling scents of berries and flowers and rot. he was so, so tired, but he couldn’t sleep, mustn’t sleep, not while Ivan and Anya, his tsarevna and his tsarevich....

Soft song in unknown language filled air as trees and bushes parted to let Cinderella pass, and birds and bugs bowed and scrambled. Ash girls haven’t faced Forests in order to become tales, not usually at least, but they were first and foremost survivors, forged in fire and dirt, pain and cruelty, and Forest respected that. And she was first of them all, first to walk upright and gaze at stars, first to speak and be spoken of, first to kindle fire and look at cruel people and say no.

Song was soft and warm like velvet blanket, or woolen scarf, making Grey’s eyelids drop as Cinderella approached, tall and pudgy, cheeks rosy and hair dull brown, her scarred , hooded face bearing resemblance to one of portraits of his ancestors he loved most, a queen called Greta or something, with kind smile and mischievous eyes, dove on hand, silver and gold cross on neck, hazel in background. He loved that portrait, for she so resembled his great-grandmother.

(Once, once they called her Aschenputtel, girl who cried lot and loved her friends and family with whole heart and worked hard, girl who prayed in church yet nursed folk superstitions, who was cunning and lively and so, so vengeful.

Thousand girls have been cast in dirt only to rise and shine, to lose shoe and become queen, Aschenputtel and Cendrillion, Ye Xian and Tấm, Bawang Putih and Ashey Pelt, while she, first of them all, once again wore ashes and worked as servant.

But still, she would be servant to those of need, and never again slave, and that was still her victory).

He expected she came to talk with him, to coach him on approaching his beloved ones, not to scare them off, to seem natural, to remember their lives were new, to not chase past but let it develop. She was best for it-doll was too easily angered, Vasilisa too playful and uninterested in ways of love and haggard witch too capricious and unlikely to distinguish love from starvation.

But she only knelt on earth, letting him put his giant head on her small knees, caressing  his fur like mother child’s head (she cared for all who lived and died, but for those who followed her story and their descendants she held  slightly greater attention, unseen to but few), singing song in forgotten language of dead tribe.

Grey fell into sleep, while she combed him in human shape, and dreamed of  his happy end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tales referenced are: Firebird, Grey Wolf and Tsarevich Ivan, The Frog Tsarevna/ Vasilisa the Wise, Sea Tsar and vasilisa Wise,The Bold Knight, the Apples of Youth, and the Water of Life, The Norka, Marya Morevna/Death of Koschei the Deathless. Those are all tales you can find on wikipedia, though I heard dozens of tales about Ivan growing up, but alas they have all been handed down to me orally as child and I have pretty much no way of tracking them down.
> 
> Cinderella tales referenced are Grimm's Ascheputtel, Perrault's cendrillion (most famous version), Chinese Ye Xian, Vietnamese The Story of Tấm and Cám, Mallay/Indonesian Bawang merah dan bawang putih, Irish Ashey Pelt.
> 
> Characters referenced in Grey's piece are Grey himself, Vasilisa and Snow White, as well as archetypes of knight in shining armor and pair of siblings.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it, please review!


	11. First day at work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan works and meets Anya. Minimal amount of bloodshed happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Finally updating. Hope I get another chapter out by end of January.  
> Beginning is a flashback to some of Ivan's youth, specifically how and why he learnt to cook. Also warning, later happens some violence. Not much but still  
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it, please comment.

_‘’Ivan.’’  Vladimir called out, reading his papers, idly tapping fingers on mahogany table, ignoring steaming coffee and plate so filled with food it was almost spilling from edges, rich scent of orange sauce and partly overcooked meat scratching Ivan’s nose like irritated, ignored cat._

_‘’Yes?’’ He asked, jerking his back little, pulling himself from daydreaming, his voice faster and higher then it should be. Dimitri rolled his eyes while Vasili snickered. His father frowned and rose eyes off papers to glare at him._

_‘’Please control yourself, you haven’t been raised at ship. And eat that food, I worked hard to put it on your plate.’’ Ivan nodded and started eating food-slowly, carefully, avoiding stuffing it like uncultured swine, hoping it would be enough for now._

_‘’So what did you choose?’’  Ivan stared dumbly at him, behaving as if he wasn’t thinking about topic for days._

_‘’Um, what do you mean father?’’ He asked, as slow as possible without it being unnatural.  Vladimir sighed._

_‘’Can’t you remember anything, boy? Haven’t we talked about it-what, three days ago?’’ Vladimir continued, glaring at Ivan, stack of documents left next to late (Dimitri always complained how father would  harshly talk to them if they happened to have something at table during meals, but always carried at least one folder  even during dinner)._

_‘’I...uh... Forgot.’’ Stare. Pretend you forgot again. It isn’t as if you planned this all._

_‘’As if his imbecile brain is big enough for something so complicated.’’ Vasili snickered and Dimitri rolled his eyes. Vladimir sighed, rubbed his forehead and spoke in tired vocie._

_‘’What selective subjects did you take up, for heaven’s sake?’’ Vladimir asked, returning to his papers. Ivan waited a second, pretending to chew slower then he was-he was certain father would flip table if he talked while eating, so chewing always proved good cover while he tried to stop his eyes and breathing from behaving strangely._

_‘’Mmmhhh.. Same as last year.’’ He hoped he looked normal-or as close as possible for him. He focused on food, it’s taste and texture, to avoid father thinking it was important question for him._

_‘’And that would be?’’ Ones they talked about several times, ones that would be most useful to him as firm  lawyer._

_‘’Study of economic development, corporate law and legal history.’’ Ivan didn’t understand why economic study was required for him- it seemed more like something  Dimitri would need, but father insisted and well, he knew best. he was planning Ivan’s career since day he was born._

_‘’But you didn’t take legal history. You took cooking class.’’ Vasili said with a smile. Ivan didn’t really understand why Vasili changed tone of his voice-he knew people did it to accent their mood, but he couldn’t guess which one, no matter how obvious Dimitri said it was. Ivan never knew whether Vasili was angry, mocking or annoyed with him._

_‘’Y-yes, but that was only because there wasn’t enough interested to form class so i got stuck with that.’’ He didn’t correct Vasili about name of class-aside from it being Vasili-  because he himself forgot it (too long) and because if he dared mention class featured baking and candy making it would be death sentence._

_‘’More likely professor just can’t be bothered to hold class. Given amount of funding they receive they should be thrown out.’’ It was secret everybody was aware of that several professors and members of staff  ‘’borrowed’’ money used for funding for extended vacations, fast cars and clothes of good quality. They didn’t tend to get along with father, who led several campaigns against corporate corruption and abuses of power by educational staff._

_‘’They sometimes really can’t form a class. There just aren’t enough kids working towards their futures. Everybody is too lazy to take anything except sport and art classes.’’ Dimitri turned up his nose and sniffed in way that he thought made him look serious and grown up. Well, as eighteen he was technically grown up, but that didn’t stop both him and Vasili (who was twenty one) from sounding like brats._

_At least in Ivan’s opinion. But he was twelve so it didn’t matter._

_‘’Oh please, lay off with that bookworm talk. It is his own fault that he takes those classes-I mean, who the fuck takes legal history?’’ Another commonly known fact was that despite school offering approximately hundred  selective subjects from various fields-they weren’t called best and oldest school in nation for nothing- about forty of them were never realized due to lack of interest._

_Dimitri turned around to start arguing with Vasili, mostly about how his insult was childish and nonsense as planning his future didn’t have anything to do with loving reading when Vladimir leveled harsh gaze at his heir._

_‘’I told him to choose that class Vasili. I would ask you to be more considerate in your choice of words.’’ Vladimir’s voice was  quiet, calm and sharp. rare as it was, Ivan could never find it in himself to be please at father admonishing vasili, even when he was sticking up for him. he turned his gaze down on floor and closed eyes, trying not to listen._

_‘’I-right dad. Sorry.’’ Vasili spoke, moment of confusion and fright on his face before he threw angry glance to Ivan._

_‘’As for you, Ivan...I sincerely hope this year you will manage to get in correct class and not be stuck with bunch of girls. For your own good, of course.’’ Vladimir said, finally sipping his coffee._

_‘’Of course father.’’ Ivan spoke, his lip trembling just slightly before he gave his best dumb, annoying smile._

* * *

 

_‘’I-I really don’t know what to say. Thank you so much for this, Mister.’’ Ivan said, his voice breaking from excitement and beginning of puberty as he shook  administrator’s hand._

_‘’No need for that, Nikolayevich.  Legal history never forms anyway, and it won’t be any problem getting you in that one. It isn’t as if there is a high demand for cooking lessons here.’’ The older man smiled, looking at boy. Ivan was scared to come, thinking it would be too rude and unfair to others to demand something like this, but administrator assured him students came to change their selected subjects all the time._

_‘’And don’t worry, if your father comes to ask for explanation I will tell him there just wasn’t enough interested students to form a group, and that it is common practice to have students attend same selective subjects as previous years-which did in fact happen, of course.’’ It would be problem if father demanded to see documents, because administrator would have to write in that Ivan demanded change of subjects, and then there would be hell to pay..._

_‘’Though I doubt that will happen. Your father is aware he isn’t favorite among several of our... less scrupulous colleagues. I on other hand very much respect his work.’’ It was rare to see such men today, administrator thought. Vladimir Nikolayevich was one of the most honest and good men he heard of-and having several siblings and three daughters who worked in his various companies he heard lot about ‘’best employer of Rustaya’’ as man was commonly called. It was obvious he properly raised his son, thought he too had some flaws, as all men did._

_‘’ Yeah, he is. That is why he doesn’t often come to talk with professors.’’ That and because he was of opinion that all professors were well, professional and capable people employed because they knew what they were doing, so any problem  three of them had was their own fault. Whether it was Vasili getting bruises from fistfight  with slightly older brother of classmate he bullied or Ivan breaking in tears in middle of math class after Mrs. Vasiliyevna started shouting at him for not getting right formula on board._

_‘’ Still, Nikolayevich, I must admit that I’m concerned.’’  Ivan quickly looked up, tense.  Man’s face was kind and thoughtful, but hair still raised at nape of Ivan’s neck._

_‘’ I understand why you’d rather not have your father know you like working in kitchen-I am afraid gender stereotypes are still prevalent today. However, I would advise you to talk about this with him. It wouldn’t be good if this became habit for you- parents are there to be trusted.’’ It would be better for boy anyway to free himself of shame. Cooking was good skill to have. Perhaps he should recommend him to counselor...._

_‘’Of course. Thanks for... everything.’’ Man didn’t have to wait for him to speak out, nor  to listen to his explanations, or even accept change instead of just telling him that he had his chance and to get lost and not waste his time. But he did._

_‘’It is my job. Now go and don’t be late for class.’’ Administrator waved him off as he started working on his computer._

_‘’Of course. Goodbye. Thank you.’’ He almost run off with uneasy smile on his face as he skipped out of office, already preparing excuses for next year, when his class schedule would be announced._

* * *

 

_‘’Uh, father?’’ Ivan walked in his father’s office, head hanging low, as Vladimir’s sharp eyes bore in him, like eagle appraising prey-something tiny, useless, some annoying pest like worm or mouse._

_‘’I’m busy boy. If you have some problem wait for me to finish. And if it is again about scuffle with Vasili I told you not to bother me with that again. And raise your  head.’’ Ivan did as he was told, black bruise over right eye sticking out from pale face, trying to stop fidgeting, while Vladimir continued working, not remarking on his body’s behavior, so Ivan took it as confirmation he managed to calm himself._

_‘’ I just wanted to say that I have made decision...if you agree of course.’’  Vladimir’s face fell in puzzled frown, and Ivan tried to hide how he avoided those sharp, angry eyes._

_‘’About what?’’  His father asked, quick and stern._

_‘’The.. thing we talked about in morning, two hours ago.’’ For forty five minutes. Third time that week._

_‘’ I know how long ago we talked, don’t worry. Just how do you expect me to keep track of it. Speak now.’’ Ivan took breath and went on._

_‘’About... volunteer hours. You know, ones you told us to take, to help with resume and  reputation. Well, I..I thought I could work in canteens. You know, for poor and homeless.’’ Vladimir blinked. Then he spoke._

_‘’It... It is actually good idea. for once.’’ Ivan’s face broke in wide smile ._

_‘’Really?’’ He couldn’t believe his luck- he would get to help others, practice cooking outside of class, get points and even make father happy-maybe actually impress him. He thought it was good idea, thought it made him feel horrible to think of being happy when people around him were probably just thinking how they haven’t eaten in ages. But he should just keep mouth shut and be nice to people (not that he would see many, working as cook, thought he wouldn’t tell that father) and not like Dimitri (helping people then bragging)._

_‘’Yes. Not that i expect to get used to it. But it is really good idea. Excellent, in fact.’’  he smiled, thing, sparkling thing his sons were unused to seeing._

_‘’Now please leave.’’ And Ivan did skipping out with weight thrown off chest and thanks coming from mouth._

* * *

 

‘’And who are you?’’  Older cook asked him, thin mustaches curled and brows frowning, hands on hips as he scanned Ivan from feet to head-which required arching neck very high, even as Ivan bent both head and back.

‘’I am-u...I’’ Man’s voice was fast and loud, eyes tiny and needle sharp, and he seemed to be frowning and on verge of shouting as Ivan retreated deeper in himself. _Damn it, you idiot. How do you expect to get anything done if you can’t even say your name properly?_

‘’Well?’’  Cook asked again, but Ivan was saved by arrival of middle-aged woman  with deep, scratching voice.

‘’Ah, Igor, that must be new chef. Right?’’ Ivan nodded. ‘’I’m Ivan.’’ he answered.

‘’Well  that won’t be hard to remember, though it will be bit more of job for administration. You are fifth Ivan by now. Tell me, what are you working as?’’  First cook asked him. Ivan, who had smiled little at joke, now blinked slowly.

‘’Um... As cook. I already told you.’’ Asking if man had bad hearing wouldn’t be very nice, he reasoned.

‘’Perun save me from stupid young.’’ Man murmured as woman chuckled. ‘’He means what are you specializing in, are you working with fish, grilling, frying...’’ Woman continued as Ivan  opened mouth, closed it, and almost blushed. _Of course._

‘’Oh. Sorry. I’m tournant. I can bake, fry, prepare soups,  meats...’’ He should have gotten that. At least he remembered proper name for type of work he could do.

‘’Great!’’ Woman said, smiling.

‘’You can stop, we get it. Off to work now.’’ Man spoke showing inside. ‘’You got it explained how everything works here?’’ Ivan nodded, and man sighed.

‘’Good. It will be confusing first few days, so don’t worry if you overcook something.  You will have time to fix it, only upside of this crazy system, but who listens to me... now off to work.’’ He said, showing him platform for work while woman handed him list of chores.

First few were easy. Chop vegetables, clean fish, boil water, cut cheese, beat eggs, that kind of thing, a manual labor that didn’t  tire him a lot, and required neither strong mental focus nor attracting attention to himself. He flew through  kitchen, helping out with tasks, noticing that here too, as in rest of building, surroundings  simply _were_ , details escaping his vision. Knife was knife, and it cut, but he had no idea how long it was or what color handle was.

He had nagging suspicion that this entire building was made by magic. Well, less of suspicion and more of ‘’only reason I am not completely sure is because nobody told me that outright’’.  Even if building looked normal, he doubted Forest would have recommended it if it was. Only question that interested him, was it’s (non) appearance limit of magic, or was it’s maker just lazy, or unoriginal.

Perhaps they would  add details later on. Creation was a slow process, after all, and creating an entire space out of nothing surely was very taxing. Not that he would mention it, of course. Mrs.Pep- just Zola, had warned him not to talk too much, and he doubted creator of this place would welcome such kind of criticism.

 After he finished everything from first half of chores he concentrated on following tasks. Next on list were several dishes he had to make. It wasn’t going to be hard, seeing as most of it were easy to make sweets, fruit yoghurts and such. Only thing that was in any way complicated was drawing hearts, webs, birds and similar things on some cookies, but well everybody could do that.

   ‘’Hardest’’ was  chicken in pumpkin sauce, which he did relatively quickly, waiting for chicken meat to turn soft and pink (well, reasonably soft and pink of properly cooked food, not half raw disgusting thing that would  infect guests with Salmonella), and letting it boil with deep creamy orange until meat absorbed scent and faint taste.

‘’Hey, Ivan! Not you, new one!’’ Short cook called out to him,  waving off bald man working with fishesand Ivan had to lower gaze to see him. Man walked up, fastly talking, and Ivan’s heart started beating like a hare’s. Was man angry? Did he mess up?  Would he be fired on first day?

‘’How much until you start working on dishes? We have hour until end of shift.’’  Man-who had to be executive chef asked him.

‘’Um?’’ Why was he asking that?

‘’ Oh gods. You haven’t forgotten, have  you? Oh, sweet...’’ Ivan’s eyes went wide and he started waving with his arms, startling poor chef and immediately berating himself for rudeness. You never interrupt somebody when they talk, even if they have been rambling and weeping for hour.]

‘’No, no, no! Already finished everything, , well was putting spices in pumpkin sauce but otherwise.. Sorry for shouting.’’ He tried hard not to smile one of his idiotic , sheepish smiles. He hoped he succeeded- you didn’t smile  when you did something bad.

‘’You already did everything?’’ Ivan nodded. Did man believe him or no?

‘’Here, see.’’ He shoved plates behind him. ‘’Rest are in fridges.’’ He added.

‘’Oh. So I gave you recipes?’’ Recipes. What would he need recipes for. Well, of course he knew what for, but not why. He was to be cook, he had to know recipes by heart if he wanted to keep job?

‘’Uh...What recipes? I mean, I know which ones, but I don’t know why would I need them?’’ He could already see he was confusing poor man.

‘’So I didn’t tell you?’’ At Ivan’s blank gaze he continued. ‘’ As most  workers here are college students looking for summer job who do cooking as hobby, I keep recipe books around here and give them out. I figure, if we are cooking for next shift, why not help them out and give them something like this? Well not this one, this is my mother’s cookbook, I  translated it  for workers here.’’ He said, handing Ivan small leather notebook, who started listing through it, reading recipes under breath.

‘’You know Frenescian?’’ Chef asked, eyeing Ivan.

‘’Uh?’’ It took moment for words to register. _Of course_ , he thought. _Tsar’s gift. He said I would understand all human languages. It must apply to writing._

‘’...Yes. I guess. I like studying languages.’’ Bad lie, bad lie.

‘’Well that is a very good habit you have. And I apologize for not giving you  these things.’’ A boss? Apologizing...That was...that was nice, but so stupid.  He did nothing wrong, there were no rules that stated he had to hand out recipes, which was kind but not necessary, and besides somebody apologizing to him made his stomach clench in horrible way.

‘’No problem, nothing went wrong. Thank you Mr.’’ Damn, he couldn’t remember name, he knew woman said it when two of them met him, and he didn’t even try to find out what it was before...

‘’Igor.’’ Chef supplied.

‘’Yes. Thank you lot, Mr. Igor, sorry for keeping your time-you must have a lot of work, I can’t keep you waiting, let me help others, can’t let hour go.’’  And then he run off offering to help his colleagues with anything they might need.

* * *

 

After hour passed, and shift ended, Ivan went for walk around city. He thought briefly of going back to flat, but he was sure that Grey would like nothing more then to have a nice, calm long sleep, which Ivan’s presence would surely disturb (he could never keep still, always fidgeting and making awful lot of noise) and anyway, it would be creepy to watch somebody sleep.

So he decided to take a look around city. It would be okay, as long as he didn’t get too far, and if he did, well he remembered address and could always take taxi or look up on Internet. he would have gone to Forest, but it was far away and he couldn’t come until they called him.

City was, for one so near to Forest and containing such...interesting restaurant, utterly, mindbogglingly  boring and ordinary. Perhaps it was natural reaction. In ordinary town magic would get  easily noticed ( ether that failed spectacularly or Yakanievnas did amazing work of hiding everything when inspection came).

It wasn’t big town, but not so small as it seemed to be. Still, small enough that he would be noticed immediately if he drove his motorbike-there weren’t even that many cars around. And attracting attention was never good, so he mostly walked with small smile and looked around himself.

 Long square buildings and narrow streets, which seemed to meld in each other, roofs almost touching to point they seemed to form one piece, all similar-concrete grey and washed out brick red, minimalist designs that lacked grace or finery or any striking element, made by someone who obviously despised their work and was probably underpaid.

It wasn’t nice to think so of anything, especially city people lived in, city people must have worked on for years, architects and engineers and builders, but he had seen many such cities and they all seemed so stifling and heavy, drained of color and life, stifling and cold.

He walked aimless, staring at countless identical stores and doors, trying to find something interesting-there probably was but all seemed same to him. Few people looked at him with suspicion and wondering-it wasn’t normal for person to walk like that, smiling all the time.

City probably didn’t even have a park, so far on outskirts of cultured world. Not that they  needed it- it was for cities deeper in country, there where every tree was cut down and every flower stamped out, all because of ancient fear of woods that hid darkness and monsters and weakness, fear of trees marching and crushing civilization. So much law was issued that every city had to have green areas, for sake of pollution-it went down since almost everybody switched on renewable energy-thought they were mainly unvisited. But ones so near Forest, surrounded by grass and meadows wouldn’t dare...

‘’Let me go, you!-‘’ He heard shouting and groan  from alley on left, and instinctively followed sound in tiny place between two buildings, filled with mud and trash. He found source in corner- a man, muscled arms showing from sleeveless shirt, shoulders wide and strong, holding wrist of woman taller but thinner then him, who was obviously struggling and putting up good fight.

He staggered. Probably drunk. Wouldn’t notice him. Good. Ivan took look around and noticed discarded wine bottle, and quickly dived to pick it up.  He closed his hand around dirty glass and run to man, shouting.

‘’Hey you!’’ Man turned, loosening his hold on woman’s arm, staggering, and before he had time to blink, Ivan smashed him over head with bottle, bottle breaking in half and shattering in glass shards, but thankfully not injuring him enough to bleed. The man fell, thankfully not on shards- he didn’t want to end up with murder charges on fist day of work.

‘’Uh...How are you? Not hurt? Do you need anything?’’ He asked woman- she seemed to be his age, though she dressed far more mature, in heels that made her taller then him by several centimeters, suit that was very formal and conservative if obviously not pristine from all that fighting.  It seemed like thing his father would approve of, were it not richly embroidered (designs seemed very interesting to Ivan) and garishly orange in way that pained eyes. She was panting, crouching, hands held out and appeared to be confused. Or very angry.

‘’I-‘’ In that moment man groaned and rose, spit drooling from lips, standing up from his knees, glaring at Ivan who froze where he stood. Man almost completely got up, reaching for Ivan while woman stepped away, turning forward in alley.

‘’You little son of bitch, I will kill you, fucking-‘’ He didn’t get to finish his sentence, nor to wrap his thick, strong fingers around Ivan’s throat, as  woman jumped from back, letting out sound that was halfway between war cry and wolf howl, beating him over back with wooden plank and what seemed broken piece of chair  she picked  up from ground, furiously hitting him over head from relatively safe distance-Ivan hopped man was drunk enough that combined with his hit he would be knocked out, because otherwise they would be in trouble.

He could only watch as she hit guy again and again-and heavens, were those nails in one of planks- her hair, black with faded out red streaks, whipping around, messed up as if it had been struck by thunder, her face contorted in angry grimace, showing teeth and gums, tawny skin shining golden from sweat and sun.

He thought that even Vasilisa didn’t look that good.

Finally, man dropped to ground, unconscious-good luck she found those things, she saved his life- and she dropped wood in her arms, panting and heavily breathing from either  excitement, exhaustion, or passing panic. They watched each other for several silent seconds that felt like days.

‘’Um... Are you okay?’’ Then, because he felt  stupid asking her that after what happened, and because it kind of sounded like when his brothers asked him if there was something wrong with his head, he decided to add some compliment.

‘’Nice... I mean you were great at...’’ Forgoing words, he rose his hands in air and started clumsily imitating her hits. She watched him with look he of course couldn’t really understand, but before he decided that she was angry and that he should get lost unless he wished to be next on her list, she let out slow, nervous laugh.

‘’Yeah...I’m good. All right.’’  He didn’t know whether she was talking about how she was feeling, or about her _skills_. For next few moment she only let out short breaths and tired groans, her voice high and rich.

‘’Do you need any help? Other help I mean. Medicine, with walking...’’ He stopped as she waved her head.

‘’No, no. Just to start breathing normally. I need to calm down.’’ She said, breathing in and out through nose.

‘’Ah... Ok. But maybe it would be better if we moved away from here.  In case he wakes up.’’ She blinked, nodded and walked out of alley. He went same way.

‘’You don’t need to follow me.  I can manage alone.’’ She said in quieter voice.

‘’I’m not.  I’m going back to work. Well  not work, but place where I work, where I have apartment.’’ She stopped a little when she heard that.

‘’You wouldn’t happen to work in Babushka’s izobushka?’’ She asked.

‘’Yes, I do. Started yesterday. I mean, first day was this morning but I had interview yesterday.’’ He explained.  He liked way she walked, as he saw it from corner of eyes- it wasn’t fast, but made you think it should be. She was standing straight, proud, determined in way that made you think you’d be cut in two if you stood in her way, especially coupled with perfect cold, but not angry way her afce was set.

‘’So you are new chef. I work there too, something in administration.’’ She said, while fixing her hair.

‘’Something in administration? You don’t know what?’’ He asked, and winced as he spoke. Stupid man, he implied she was dumb or wasn’t paying attention.

‘’ I suppose you could say I’m bookkeeper. I don’t know, organization is mess. Mostly  I just tidy papers, hand out pay and count budget. You already saw way that place works. I don’t know how it functions at all.’’ Yes he did. Insane system that made no sense-just how did, for example, cooks know what to cook for next shift? What if customer asked for something they didn’t have in stock? Unless witches running it could see future, of course.

‘’I heard that miracles can be found in strangest of places. Maybe that is how.’’ He offered, struggling to keep pace with her. She chuckled.

‘’Could be. Gods above and below  know it is only thing that could help us.’’ Then they fell in silence, and Ivan didn’t break it. better to let her, not to bother her.

‘’I’m Anya.’’ She said after some time.

‘’I’m Ivan.’’ At least her name was short enough to remember. Though he had suspicion he wouldn’t have forgotten it even if it was page long, with impressive way they met.

‘’ You are fifth Ivan we have working there. I will end up messing up to whom to give what pay.’’ She spoke a second after that.

‘’Oh no! You surely won’t. You are capable and good worker...’’ He stopped when she looked at him.

‘’I know that, thank you.’’ Oh. That was joke.

‘’Sorry. I don’t get jokes well. I thought you were really worried about that...’’ He tried to explain.

‘’That’s... nice. But how do you know I wouldn’t have done that, if it was case?’’ She asked, as they passed boring, cold streets.

‘’Well...You look  like person who always does everything that is asked of them in half time.’’ She simply gave off that feeling.

‘’Well, that is unique compliment.’’ She said under breath. Ivan pretended not to notice it. It was bad if you commented on such things.

‘’You weren’t bad with that bottle, you know. She spoke after some time.

‘’Thanks.’’ He said earnestly, smiling wide smile. he decided not to inform her it was his second time in week he knocked somebody out such way. It didn’t seem like information to be shared so easily.

‘’...Ivan?’’ She asked after some time, again in quieter voice, but not so sharp as before.

‘’Yes?’’ He answered.

‘’You aren’t going to call police, right?’’ He blinked. Why would he want to do that? There was no reason and would make problem for them all.

‘’Only if he ends up dead and you don’t cover for me, or help me get rid of evidence.’’ he stopped, thinking. ‘’Perhaps we should have burned blanks and thrown glass in trash. And checked pulse. And got rid of body.’’

Anya answered with laugh that had few people looking at crazy young people walking and smiling around and laughing as if they were high. 

* * *

 

Grey wakes up on something thick and soft, covered by warm woolen  blanket that reminds him of fur and horse coat, colors brown and orange of late autumn, pillow big and stuffed with feathers, looking up at bare pale sky, dead trees, bleached white and rotten black reaching up desperately for heavens, as if begging for salvation.

Ground was  composed of gray and washed out rock and rough, black frozen earth , sprinkled with tiny crystals of frost and  thin layer of crushed snow, air still and chill. Grey pushed off heavy blanket and found himself in human shape, dressed in brown woolen sweaters that appeared to be one of Vasilisa’s lower quality works- which meant that she considered them practice work because people would just be willing to spend millions on one article instead of murdering their family to get piece of fabric.

Rustling of cloak  on crunching snow  sent shock through his body, and he quickly got up-almost jumped, and turned with vary reflection, ready to tear apart whatever foul beast decided he was good choice for meal, glaring and almost roaring.

‘’ Good reflexes Grey, though I would ask you to work on controlling them a bit. It can lead to significant problems if you lash out like that while in city.’’  Cinderella smiled, her cheeks plump and rosy, auburn hair falling from beneath dark hood,  dirty apron tied around wide waist as she carried a bag filled with spices and meat to pitch black pot hanging over campfire some meters away from him.

‘’I apologize, lady Cinderella.’’ If he was different person he would have hanged his head and showed shame that filled him, though he did stand frozen stiff. He nearly attacked, of all creatures, Cinderella! That was practically step below spitting Holy Virgin in face.

‘’ No need. It is good to have such reflexes here. Though I would like if you stopped calling me lady.’’  She spoke, taking out wooden spatula to mix broth that was smelling deliciously.

‘’I am sorry, lady, but I still have some manners left, and I will not have my parents turning in their graves.’’ It was a minimum he could do,  when he more or less forgot every rule of etiquette he was taught-and they probably changed much by now.

‘’Well, at least it is good to know you are still as stubborn as ever.’’ What nice pair they made, prince and queen whose kingdoms were lost to them forever-his still stood, but changed so much, all people he knew long ago buried, his claim to it made worthless, his name known only  to history books, while hers country hasn’t been blessed even with that small mercy, it’s legacy and land grinded in less than dust. Relicts of bygone time is all they are left to be.

‘’You  do not have to worry about my hardheadedness, lady. To despair of thousands tutors it was present since I first learnt to speak.’’ He chuckled, remembering with fondness exasperated teachers he so hated as child.

‘’I imagine they  reacted to it same way you react to Vasilisa.’’ She said, handing him a bowl with porridge, watching him put on irritated scowl.

‘’That woman is impossible.’’ He grumbles. Too similar temperament, both too easy to get involved in fight-though Vasilisa tries to pretend to be calm and mature. It is good for them to be together, to get cheeky with each other and manage themselves- and when they aren’t, she can fill in.

Better that then mouthing off The Bone Legged Hag after all.

‘’Well, she exists, so I would say that isn’t the case.’’  Grey levels her look that says more then enough of what he thinks about her sense of humor if it can be called so, but decides not to criticize matronly woman cooking him lunch.

(She is one, but she is also little girl in torn dress, and willowy bald maiden, and huntress wrapped in skin of dragons, and whipped sage covered by dust. She is sleek, emerald clad queen and  veiled, tall priestess, cold crone lacking arms and blind sun-bright witch. She is man and woman and snake and lion and dragon and oak, canvas for mortals to throw their beliefs and vices and hopes and watch it transmute in virtue, blessings and blames.

There is the story, eldest of them all, and we all find our way to it in the end, no matter what guise it bears).

‘’How... How is it going over there?’’ He asks as he takes spoon of most perfect broth ever devised (The Stepmother wanted best, so best she gave her). He remembers first time he ate one in Forest, how surprised he was to see one cooked in Forest, when all knew you couldn’t even light a candle in there.

Two women he lived with  explained to him, Cinderella endlessly patient and reassuring, Vasilisa mocking and baiting, that as with  everything in nature,  influence of Forests isn’t definite thing, but more of transitional, just as seasons slowly turn and transform, autumn melding in winter, instead of snow covering world moment  certain day begins.

Here, they dwell in outskirts, the very edges of Forest, places that once belonged to human lands more then three thousand years ago, before tress marched and overtook them. It is here that something resembling human life can be constructed. Oh, weapons, whether carving knives or machine guns refuse to work, as do all vehicles, from hay carts and chariots  to bikes and cars, and medicines, and all sorts of communication devices, phones and books too (words fading out from pages, or becoming unreadable, or disappearing), and all spells fail but for gifts sorcerer is born with.

Further in, in deep darkness, even things like cauldrons, blankets and ropes refuse to work, impossible to prevent wind and cold, broth falling through metal to ground, and locks couldn’t be locked while boxes couldn’t  hold things, and only strongest enchantments-such as his curse, unfortunately- work. And in heart of forest, clothes tear away and disappear, foods provide no nourishment, and not even fire can be started, and no magic may be worked.

Exception being ancient crone, whose hut run and mortar flew and who cheerfully disobeyed laws of nature and once rode tank through heart, justifying it with ‘’ If those measly leaf covered sap bearing brats dare to complain  we will tear them up by roots and make salad out of them.’’

Old witch solved most of problems by threatening to eat somebody, which Grey once jokingly took for proof there is no God or else He would have gotten rid of her long time ago, after which Cinderella maybe-not-jokingly told him He too was worried about possibility of ending up as lunch.

He stopped thinking of crone once he saw how dead trees bent and snow and dust retreated as if in fear she would be summoned by his thoughts.

‘’Good. Ivan and Anya met. It went rather nicely, exactly how we expected. Now you need only to meet her. But take care it doesn’t get out of hand. It should be natural.’’ Which meant, in nice people coated speech, that he should keep his mouth shut, not be too forward and under no circumstances call her Elena.

‘’It will. Everything will go alright-at my part at least.’’  Last part he said quietly, while sipping from soup.

‘’Then everything will go alright.’’ He pretended not to notice that she hadn’t drop of broth nor bite of meat in it, or that not once she blinked, her eyes wide open, staring at world as if it was just a thin layer on top while only she saw till bottom of it, or as if it was covered in mist and smoke and only she saw clearly, eyes full of high, purposeful light of lost paradise.

‘’That would be nice. If it happens.’’ He continued, already frowning.

‘’And why wouldn’t it?’’ Cinderella asked, soft and kind, but he could already see she was thinking him in wrong. He wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or happy because of that.

‘’Because it never happened before. Because Story is the bitch who likes to repeat things, and every time it ended up wrong, and...’’ He stopped, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.

‘’Now you are thinking of worst case scenario. Why do you think you would fail?’’ Cinderella stared at Grey, who turned away from her deep, drilling eyes.

‘’Because I don’t have just his damned bastards to worry about. Or my own abilities. There is the Story, and you said it yourself _. Pattern of life, tradition binding destiny, dream of mankind intent on making itself real_. How do I fight against that? I am just human.’’ How to fight against words, against wishes and desires so strong they bent world to their will.

‘’Human.’’ Cinderella repeated, fingers trailing over frost near them. ‘’ Do you really believe you can be _just_ human? As if that is something small and meaningless. As if you haven’t already done so many things that should be impossible. As if it is not your nature, to defy the odds.  As if you aren’t most special of world’s species.

You speak. You formed communities and kingdoms. You reached for bottom of ocean and stars. You crafted such beautiful technology. Wrote such stunning spells. Looked on world and analyzed it, never stopping, always wanting to know more. And yet you remain such beautiful, chaotic silly things, fueled by love and courage.

Tell me, haven’t you survived plagues? Earthquakes and tsunamis, ice ages and tornadoes? Haven’t you tamed wolves and learned not to fear bears? Slew dragons and stood against giants? On the day Forest marched, haven’t all humans stood in line against trees to fight for their lives and homes, and they stopped? ‘’ She looked at Grey, smile wide and proud, nostalgia filtering her voice.

‘’Tell me, what is a Story but what  humans dream it to be?’’

(She lets truths and lies mix even as they burn her throat. Small lies, kind lies are sometimes required to save somebody, for truth is harsh and cruel mistress.

She speaks truth, of their accomplishments, but frames it as if that is something never seen before, as if Forest stopped out of fear and not boredom. As if billion races haven’t and won’t be born and evolve and look at world and try to analyze it, depart planets for skies and stars and build empires and rule and in the end all fall and crumble and be forgotten. Story changes, but story is same.

But then, empires and love are fueled by and live for different things, though both are forms of greed).

‘’Story changes, but story is same.’’ He repeats saying he had heard so many times, from Vasilisa and Cinderella and thousand others like them he encountered (True Characters, some of them call their kind with bittersweet laugh).

‘’So it is. And  Story is told that good won and lived happily, and what does past have to do about that? Three loves conjoined, powerful number and powerful force. Lesser things have changed fate of numerous lives. And for centuries we have been preparing everything, and this time  his brothers aren’t potential tsars-there are laws they will worry about.

Only thing you should concentrate on is  trying to become friend with them, and rest will unfold as it is meant to be, what choices they make.’’ Right of course. Different time, different personality-genetic makeup, surroundings, life experiences... Maybe they wouldn’t love him, but they could always be friends.

He could pretend it wouldn’t hurt.

‘’Say, lady,’’ Grey asked, taking his bowl ‘’do you have more of that broth for me? I am as hungry as wolf.’’ Cinderella didn’t comment on it, simply giving him more, as was code meant between two people with bad jokes-you recognize them but don’t comment when you are just as bad at humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anybody guess what tale inspired first meeting of Ivan and Anya (of tsarevich Ivan tales of course)?  
> In my school, selective subjects ( I'm not sure how to translate it) are taken up to school councilor if you want to change them, but I heard taht's not how it is done in other places.   
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it, and please review.


	12. Crossed paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya talks with her new acquaintance and hopes nobody will call police on them.  
> Grey and babushkas worry, in their own ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here is twelfth chapter! We are approximately halfway through the story. Thank you for sticking with me.
> 
> So, this chapter is mainly dialogue and different perspectives, which was very fun but tiring to do. I also wanted to show how awkward and socially unconscious Ivan can be- Anya is bit better, but she is weird in her own way. As for Ivan's outburst well-Ivan does like all animals, but also is thinking of Autumn, who is sentient creature, so he reacts bit too strong, as if human race was insulted.
> 
> Also, some rambling about aspects of world that will play important part in future.
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy it, please comment.

‘’Vasilisa.’’ Baba Yaga called out-the eldest sister- aspect, one whose quiet and hollow voice weighted down like gravity and failure, causing baked earth beneath to crack, stone pillars to waste away in grey sand, pale stars above to flicker and die out.

Vasilisa appeared few moments after, shining orange and red threads of spell fading, followed by heat and smell of smoke. When Baba Yaga called somebody, they heard it wherever and whenever they were. Baba Yaga’s will transcended petty things like space or reason, which was why Vasilisa cast teleportation spell without addressing location.  Such action would normally randomly transport her to somewhere on planet with no way of guessing where you would end up until it was finished, but Baba Yaga wanted to see her and so she would come, carried by crone’s will.

Unless Baba Yaga wanted to test her, or got tired and bored of her. You could never truly know.. It was part and parcel of being Baba Yaga’s handmaiden, treasured  and guarded, tested and threatened.  To be handmaiden meant to be taught mysteries long forgotten while baking bread, and to separate seeds from ashes while jaws and fangs waited behind her. To be given power and keep house, while trying not to ask too many questions and hiding visitors from becoming lunch.

Not something many would choose to tolerate for centuries. But then, not many would walk in Forest while all they knew burned behind them without turning head (Nor would many be ones to set it on flame).

‘’Yes, babushka?’’ Vasilisa asked, holding carved wooden box and sweeping hand over herself to transform suit she wore in something  much less modern and much more expensive, her annoyed frown settling in cool neutral expression when suit finally turned in wide blue dress.

‘’Please, let  Ivan know he is to attend us tomorrow, after white rider is finished here.’’ Morning was always so lovely and loyal. Baba Yaga loved watching it, along with their other riders ride across world and fulfill their purpose. It was almost not completely boring.

‘’R-I didn’t expect it would go so soon.’’ Good, she caught herself before question came out. She had already wasted three, and didn’t want to be taken out by something so stupid as surprise after two thousand (and thirty one) years. Well, surprise would more accurately be first of dominoes that would lead to oven and sharp, sharp teeth. People rarely died just of surprise.

‘’Yes. We decided we’d see him sooner. He met everybody but us.’’ And little doll, doll carved out of wood ancestors of  previous rulers of Vasilisa’s lost homeland bargained for with Baba Yaga. So many stories, untold and forgotten, lying in dust of oblivion. When you live long, they say, everything starts to have sentimental meaning.

How sentimental, even if they would kill anybody who accused them of it, can be something that has always existed ( **Beware, little Narrator**. _Of course, Great Ladies_.)?

‘’Of course. I just need to be informed what hour he should come in.’’ Vasilisa said, barely hiding shadow of fear and doubt in her voice. To Baba Yaga it was obvious. Just like with handmaidens, heroes who got involved with Baba Yaga were handed double-edged blade. Cherished and hunted, advised and tested, aided and captured, equipped and devoured,  love and danger ran hand in hand with Baba Yaga so often their wrists fused together.

‘’ Hour after he is finished with his shift. We want him to have time to rest and prepare.’’ Not that preparation would help him much. But he needed hour to be frustrated and nervous before he was thrust in...rather difficult situation he would find himself in.

‘’ Good. I will send him message some time later.’’ Chair and table appear before Vasilisa, willed in being by Baba Yaga, and she sits down while hag remains lying on crown of tree.

‘’What is in the box?’’ Elder asked, voice full of dust and sorrow and ennui. They knew, three of them, just as they know how and why and where and when and everything, they knew dying thoughts of ladybug crushed by fox in Forest, they knew what blessed princess dreams as she sleeps for century, they knew which way atoms of stars moved, they knew what death thought as it was taking dying mother, they knew what gods of sea were hoping for, and they knew what Ivan would do tomorrow  but still they asked. Asking meant answering, which meant they had conversation. And conversation assumed you didn’t know everything because what need is there for talk then and if you need no talk then you have no need for anybody else to exist.

‘’Trinkets and toys, some charms and amulets of questionable origin. Some acquaintances who infiltrated Enclave sent them to me,  half because they thought I would like them, half because they think those might be Story’s artifacts.’’ She didn’t feel need to mention said acquaintances were also True Characters-pros of talking with omniscient, and force of habit. Given lifestyle she led, most humans Vasilisa interacted with were either other  Characters, or humans in process of carving out their own tales and becoming ones in half a century.

Not all of them choose to live as she did, mostly solitary and completely accepting their repeating fate, spending rest of their days in Forest. They remained with civilization, trying to blend in with mundane humanity, to escape or change their tales. They hid among rich and poor, near seas and deserts, next to  volcanoes and icebergs, in valleys and mountains. Wherever human foot has made even one step, wherever mortal voice was heard they found  way, to live and hide, to conquer obstacles and endure trials, spanning over world under watchful eye of first of them all ( _around fires, tribes whispered  first and only tale with wonder and anticipation, name spoken like prayer,_ **_Cinderella Cinderella Cinderella_** , _and she came from beyond death to lead them to safety_ ).

‘’Three are. Rest are nonsenses, four even not amulets at all, though one is relatively dangerous.  Nothing much, just weapon designed to destroy Moon.’’ Those are dime dozen, small worthless things like that, speaks  middle sister-aspect and world hears and knows it. Enclave makes big fuss about them, unaware how many ‘’failed prototypes’’ in their warehouses are actually weapons that make  their nuclear bombs look like toys.

Arcanist Enclave. Hah! Bunch of stupid, entitled brats playing around with things they don’t understand. One of greatest sins of mortals is their insatiable curiosity. They have need to prod and tease and search for things that should have been left alone. Damned things would see big red button labeled _Forbidden_ or chained doors sealed with _For love of everything you hold dear don’t open_ and immediately start trying to pry them off.

Sorcerers were same, only thinking they understand magic (as if magic would ever accept to have true rules, to be bound and explained) and ability to deny laws of reality. And duty to help out with science and communication and building cities and everything. All maintained by broken system  practically built to be exploited, based on isolation, ostracization  and child trafficking- oh, they wouldn’t call it so, it was all legal and consensual.  Fact that sorcerers gave large sums of money to parents of gifted children was only to ease their loss and help with cuts they had to make for sake of children ( _take this and shut up and don’t search for them_ ). And parents, giving away their offspring to strangers and organization that rarely had touch with rest of world were only doing that to benefit both child and society _(take them, we won’t stand trouble of having such things in this house, they didn’t turn out to be normal child we wanted_ ).

Nothing but trouble, those sorcerers. They needed to get at least one for Ivan to deal with. That’d keep Story sated.

‘’It is always the threes. I will try to find their owners and get in touch with  them. As for others, I will find place to dispose of.’’ Vasilisa said, opening box and inspecting items inside, careful not to touch anything.

They remained there, talking about senseless, tiny things of no importance. It almost wasn’t tiring.

* * *

 

This was exactly how Anya _didn’t_ intended to spend rest of day.

In fact, it was exactly how no woman in world wanted to spend their day. She was just coming out of small caffe-  by stars there was no way was she buying food and drink at her workplace-when she noticed  stumbling, shady man following her. His stumbling made it obvious he was drunk. She was careful not to glance or hurry with her steps- that could only make him more aggressive.

He made several remarks, typical catcalls she didn’t respond to. Perhaps she should have-he’d maybe make scene and somebody could go and help her. But she thought she could get away without risk of being injured.

It is particular kind of fear, when woman notices man following her. Fear that is both familiar, like songs her aunt sang or her mother’s perfume and steps of dance father taught her, but always fresh and vivid, outcome never certain, spike of panic in chest, even to ones who were never hurt or _‘’damaged’’_ as some might call it.

It was more common-in her experience at least-during the night. Harder to see, harder to notice, and more common for parties and drinking nights to be held at late hours. But then, if idiots decided to get drunk at noon who could stop them.

Trying to escape him through narrow, empty alleys...wasn’t best idea she had.  She thought it could give her opening to escape, to lose him, but instead she only got herself stuck. Leaving herself at mercy of violent, drunk creep.

Fear transformed in anger, at both herself and him, after everything passed. Panicking like that was stupid and counter-productive. Now it could have cost her broken arm or worse. But next time something worse could have happened. not to mention if she panicked at work.

Irritation rumbled in her, like fire in belly of dragon, and she needed to let it out somehow-but later. Raging at yourself was stupid and ineffective, and she couldn’t do that. Screaming at yourself just brought you down, just made things worse. You had to get smarter, turn that anger in something constructive and useful, like flames that helped smith shape metal.

And she couldn’t let herself lash out at guy next to her.

When he appeared out of nowhere, swinging that wine bottle like mace, it was perfect distraction. Bastard was  was down, and she managed to get away and grab some planks that were, thank gods, nearby to be able to smack drunk rascal’s head and break it as an egg. Her parents raised her well, and even if some found her impolite and unpleasant (which generally meant older people didn’t like that she rarely agreed with them, or that men found her too ambitious and outspoken), she wasn’t kind of person that would bail out on somebody who helped her.

Well, her parents certainly didn’t intend for her to join forces with random strangers so they could beat up amateur bodybuilder until he drops dead, but principle was there-she was sure they’d approve after hugging her like mad, joining up on slam-down and pointedly asking her where she learnt to do such things.  Still, she managed to create polite, well-meaning beating up.

She also really wanted to smash bastard’s face in concrete.

Fear run through her again when Ivan walked in same direction, because she heard of and witnessed men helping women in trouble only to start harassing them, claiming earlier help gave them _right_ to bother her, but thankfully that wasn’t case here. He was just going to work.

Same workplace as her, and other four Ivans-because nobody but  _Izobushka_ was so crazy to offer apartments to their workers, and Anya still wasn’t sure whether that was kindest or most cunning, malign thing any employer ever did . She was probably going to mix them up, five of Ivans. But not that she could complain-it wasn’t as if Anya too wasn’t one of simplest, most common names out there.

He wasn’t so bad, that Ivan.  Bit awkward and no sense of humor, but not condescending  as she thought he would be when he started reassuring her about her work. It was simply...misplaced niceness. Perhaps it could be annoying, but it was much more welcome then anything she got in this damned town. Pay at _Izobushka_ was good, and it was close to her hometown, and had good university, but gods, people were all cold and horrible.

Ivan was quiet. Well, not really. His walk was really loud, scrambling and thudding on pavement, gracelessly walking like duck, but he didn’t speak unless she first asked him something, and then his voice was low and nearly silent. He was tall, somewhere around her height, but he crouched and  hunched so he seemed smaller. Combined with his sickly, pale face, hollowed out cheeks and underfed appearance, and skittish, ungainly way he held his body made him look much smaller.

It put her at ease, somehow. She was aware of, and unfortunately knew many men who were similarly entitled and gross towards women ( and on other side of coin, knew several girls who were so unpleasant), and when rejected blamed it on their appearance or girls being vapid things interested only in beautiful brutes.

But Ivan- as far as she could see, which wasn’t much given she ‘’knew’’ him for hour at best- didn’t seem like that.  He didn’t even seem to be looking at her, but staring away in distance, smiling all the time and daydreaming, lost somewhere in clouds.

Honestly, maybe this time she was too pessimistic.  No need to assume worst about guy who run to help when he heard somebody  shout. Especially when person in question looked like scared, declawed kitten and had no intention of calling police at her.

‘’ You know, we could have finished it there. His skull seemed to be three hits away from snapping in half.’’ Ivan blinked once before smiling weakly.  It seemed dark humor went better with him.

‘’Maybe. better not to try.’’ He simply said.

‘’Or you’d  have to turn me in?’’ She asked.

‘’Well, then I’d be collaborator and also get punished. Though maybe lower. Depends on how judge feels.’’ So, they could discuss potential crimes together. Great. She was here less then week, already bored with being alone, and first person she had longer conversation then ‘’Good day.’’ was already considering helping her cover up murder.

‘’ You know, not that I would ever do it out of nowhere, but I think I’d be capable of murder.’’ _Fantastic, Anya, really fantastic_ , she told herself.  _Just go and say things like that to random strangers. Not like it is supremely concerning and off-putting._

‘’You are. We all are. Kids, animals, plants, everything can kill you even unintentionally. Just need bit of bad luck.’’ Ivan shrugged.

‘’...You are right, but I didn’t mean it like that.’’ Well, that was bit too pessimistic even for her. She had to include it in some of her stories, it seemed like fun idea.

‘’Sorry.’’ He said, hesitant, something flashing in his eyes. hard to believe it was same man who swung bottle like that.

‘’ No need for that. I  didn’t  mean it as probability, but as of conviction.’’ He looked at her, bit lost. She was slipping in flowery, unclear tangents again. She sounded as pretentious as some of nobles from her  novel.

 ‘’ I meant, I think that if it came down to that, I could make choice to kill somebody and go through with it. But only in self defense. I could never be assassin.’’  Honestly, if Ivan didn’t call police after this, she needed to buy him big chocolate.

‘’Makes sense. You would be very bad assassin though.’’ He said, still smiling, and Anya started worrying that either she was speaking with spirit of mercy given human form or serial killer wanted in at least seventy states.

‘’And why would that be? Not that I’m offended of course.’’  Well, she was, on theoretical level, by implication she would be failure, and noticeable one at that, at anything. But she was currently walking very thin line between _black humor_ and  _asking to be detained_.

‘’We just spent  almost whole of our time discussing covering up body and splitting skull in open daylight in city filled with potential witnesses.’’ He pointed out, and she caught twitch that disappeared after she said she wasn’t offended.

‘’You have point.’’ There was moment when he tensed, and his face fell blank, before he smiled even wider and murmured  something that seemed to be thanks. Which made no sense, as he was right and shouldn’t have been thanking  her at all, but she decided not to comment. He wasn’t one discussing his abilities to kill man.

‘’Anyway, not that I’d be interested in killing politicians and like. Though some of those snakes certainly deserve it.’’ Ivan stopped abruptly and looked at her, frowning, face going red, waving finger.

‘’Hey! Pull that back! Snakes are nice, helpful ,  and useful! Have you even met one, and even if you have and been disappointed , you have no right to speak like that of them!’’ He said in high, almost shouting voice, that caused people to stop and watch (like vultures, waiting for drama, but not ready to intervene), and had Anya fearing for her life if Ivan ever got  his hands on her drafts and saw how many of Rustaya’s more unsavory tsars she compared to various serpents and other reptiles.

‘’I- that was just  a cliche metaphor. Way to say somebody is lying and conniving.’’ Perhaps she should get angry that Ivan shouted at her. But then, Ivan had been listening to her more then little disturbing ramblings for about half hour, and he hadn’t disagreed on matter of politicians. Besides, he looked as she just spat on his family’s graves.

‘’Well, it is bad metaphor. Snakes don’t harm you if you aren’t stupid or trying to harm them, deal with rodents and insects and we make medicines out of them. And they are pretty and sweet. ’’ He wasn’t shouting, but he was huffing and seemed personally insulted. He even rose a little until he was almost at her height.

‘’Well, that is how saying goes.  Everybody says it like that. I can’t do anything about that.’’ She shot back.

‘’...Well, you either don’t  give a damn about what everybody else is thinking, or you make them all change.’’ He earnestly spoke after second. It took her second to process his words. They were earnest, simple, naive-as if you could change anything about single person, much less society and culture at large.

Still, idea of forcing everybody to play by your rules, of not caring whatever anybody else did and thought... Well, that was something familiar which she could very much respect.

In second, during which silence reigned, Ivan’s eyes widened and he cast a worried look around himself, and seemingly deflated, crouching lower then before, almost bowing.

‘’Sorry sorry sorry, I didn’t mean to shout, I didn’t want to insult you, sorry, I...’’ He fastly spoke before starting to walk away. It took her few moments to catch up with him, given her heels, though he was pretty much as fast as he was graceful.

‘’Hey. Why did you run off?’’ She asked, keeping up pace with him. way he flinched made her question just what tone she used- a habit of hers, to sound more like general then normal human.

‘’I-I, sorry, I got angry for ... well, didn’t think you’d want to be with me, so I simply.. Left? I mean, I attacked you for something like...that, so I... why’d you want to be with me after...’’ His voice got lower and lower. They continued walking.

‘’It was strange and uncomfortable, especially as people stared at us.  And I don’t appreciate being talked like that by strangers. But you immediately apologized and tried to fix it, so this time I will let it slide if you don’t repeat it.’’ Honestly, she couldn’t even be angry ( especially as he didn’t even try to give his explanations or justify his behavior), given how topic of their...disagreement was so trivial.

‘’Okay. I won’t.’’ he nodded, before smiling again and murmuring something that appeared to be thanks again.

He was weird. Very weird, she decided. But he seemed nice, so she decided to try it. Gods above and below knew she needed somebody to hang out with before she went mad from isolation, and  that somebody  being willing to help her beat up harassers, discuss how to get away with murder in open daylight and loving animals was good deal so far.

‘’So...you like snakes?’’ Pretty obvious in her opinion, but she needed to start conversation.

‘’Yes. And all others.’’ He answered.

‘’Others. What do you mean?’’ Anya asked.

‘’Animals. They are all so...fascinating and great and fantastic.  I love them all. Reptiles and birds and arachnids and fishes and mammals and rodents.... They are all lovely and pretty in their own way.’’ In Anya’s experience, people who liked animals so much were soft, squeashy, superficial sort. But then, in Anya’s experience, those were same people who hated snakes, rats and similar creatures for not being sweet and lovely.

‘’Really? tell me, what do you think of me? Am I sweet and lovely?’’ She asked, admonishing herself mentally for sounding like school girl.

‘’Nope. Not at all.’’ He cheerfully answered. She decided not to let it bother her- given he used those words for venomous, limbless things crawling in dirt.

‘’Really? So I’m not pleasing to look at?’’ Not that she wanted to be,  but still. It did irritate her bit, how fast he said it.

‘’Oh, but you are! You are so tall and have great face and walk so good and excellent suit and your hair is the best-though you need to redye some parts- but you aren’t lovely.’’ He said, and she felt slightest twitch of strange combination of pride and shame when he mentioned hair, since everybody told her it was bad idea but also because she hoped she didn’t do such bad job with it. Ivan continued.

‘’ You are striking.’’ He said with ease one might say water is wet, sky is blue.

She could get used to his compliments.

* * *

 

Grey took deep breath before knocking.

It was surprising how many similarities there were between wolf, prince and wizard. Few but important. Foremost of all, try to avoid another’s territory,  whether that be kingdom, pack hunting grounds or thaumathurgical workshop.

Cinderella opened door, letting him see sparkling, abominably clean kitchen. It wasn’t even sterile. Sterile implied there was something to be filled. Cinderella cleaned until she came to very bones of reality, then continued polishing. There was nothing natural or pleasant about that place, sometimes kitchen, sometimes closet, where Cinderella made her dwelling. Nothing personal, or alive, stripped clean to it’s essentials.

His father, as it was common in those days, had dungeon, and with them torturers. Master torturer was polite, quiet man whose very appearance unnerved all around him. He looked at word with cold, detached eyes, spoke in measured, moderate voice, and wielded his vile instruments mechanical, uncaring ease, never bothered by blood that covered him whole. Cinderella on her cleaning sprees reminded him of that man, save for one fundamental difference.

Zeal. Cinderella cleaned with-not passion, that was too warm and soft  word to describe feeling that overtook her in those moments, that ancient, glacial hatred forged through ages, the absolute determination that could only be compared to something like natural disaster, rush of madness that convinced him that if Cinderella had to sacrifice every living creature on this Earth, from giants to amoebas,  to kill even most innocent babe in world to keep one spot of her kitchen clean, she would do so in seconds, without getting a single bloodstain, then find way to ecologically dispose of corpses.

Some people he knew compared her to saint. What most people forgot is that majority of saints endured gruesome tortures then went off to fight against hordes of demons. One of his countrysmen, who followed older gods of their land, compared her to valkyrie. It was apt simile.

‘’Hello Grey. Do you need something? Come in, have a seat.’’ He hesitated moment before entering, then subtly (in his opinion) exhaled with satisfaction when he saw he didn’t dirty awfully clean floor (he did, dust and sweat and molecules too small for human to notice, but that would be easy enough to clean). It may have seemed dramatic, but he remembered first and last time he saw somebody make mess after she finished cleaning, which was also first and last time he saw mountains tremble and shudder.

‘’Thank you , lady Cinderella.’’ He said, bowing as she shook her head. No matter how much centuries passed, how many of those who knew them passed in dust, he was  prince and his family’s heir, and least he could do to honor them all was to behave properly.

‘’So, what do you need? Do you want something to snack on?’’ She asked, taking out several cookies and chips from somewhere.

‘’No, thank you. I’m here because of Ivan.’’ He said, and on Cinderella’s elderly face saw expression that clearly spoke _Of course, what else_ before she motioned for him to continue.

‘’He hadn’t had breakfast this morning. Nor lunch. In fact, he told me he wasn’t thinking to eat until evening. So I thought if you might...’’ Cinderella’s eyes subtly narrowed, and Grey felt trace of tension in air, sort that made primitive instincts in his brain go _Find altar and put carnage on it fast_ and solidified Grey’s choice who to go to help if he decided to kill Ivan’s family.

‘’Grey, put pots on stove. We have a boy to feed, and feed him we shall.’’ For all it sounded silly, and for all Cinderella pretended to be but an ordinary sweeper of floors, Grey gulped, reminded that this woman had been  queen since before any language of world has been but thought in mind, or scribble in dirt. He hurried to take out metal pots she kept in cupboard and turn on stove while she took out ingreditents.

He prayed to Heaven he wouldn’t spill anything, or accidentally poison Ivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to owldork/redlipstickkisses who comments on every chapter and pretty much betas it. Someday I will have enough time to correct it all and put their help in work.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it, please comment.


	13. Calm pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinderella and Grey cook, and Ivan is stunned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very very short chapter. So sorry, but school and life got in way and I feel really bad about it and writer's block but also wanted to be productive. At least bit.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, please comment.

Once again Grey felt  familiar mix of gratitude and awkwardness whenever he was with Cinderella as they worked to prepare lunch  (and dinner, and breakfast because by God and saint being murdered was one thing but he did not intend to let Ivan die of starvation) for his foolish.... he supposed roommate had to stick for now because ‘’reincarnation of former lover’’ was too weird to say.

That feeling was heightened and enlarged here, in what could be considered heart of Cinderella’s domain in this house. The hut on chicken legs was often more of world then home-it contained galaxies, and wild dangers that put Forests to shame, and rooms of it’s residents were more like empires, carved out through blood and death and war. Countless stories, unknown and untold, for good of all.

Cinderella’s kitchen was place of safety and comfort,  warm as hearth and as pleasant as favorite breakfast on perfect lovely day, kingdom of peace and aid where any thing hiding and fighting through halls of Iron Teeth’s home and thousand realms She filled them with could come to and expect food, advice and security.

And yet, in way it was more horrible then scars covering half her body -raw and black and red, dry as baked earth, full of ridges created when melted skin and flesh melded in harsh lines and hills,  callouses that looked ready to burst with blood and phlegm, at points charred and cracked and bone showing, melted eyelid half hanging over eyes, and half lost, revealing raw and soft pink flesh .

This place, he knew from things Vasilisa and her doll whispered in fear and awe, of monsters and abominations she beat back to carve it out, horrors that fled far far away as she approached, of mountains she crushed unto dust and seas she emptied and stars she extinguished, with fire and waves, then scrubbing and washing and sweeping and tearing until it was bare and sterile and clean, aching and screaming and hurting like skin rubbed with cold water and harsh hairbrush and lye soap for years  (decades, century) without end.

It was bit hard to feel completely comfortable in bare shadow of world that required scaring away armies of walking corpses of giant lizards that should have been wiped out by meteor ages ago.

‘’Can you please get me pots, Grey?’’ Cinderella asks, soft and quiet and warm (though for fraction of moment something hollow and stale like broken radio  comes out of her scarred throat, too fast for his brain to register). With gnarled, calloused hand and chipped nail dirty from flour and ground down chestnuts she points to cupboards he can’t quite describe.

‘’Of course, my lady.’’ He says as she sighs and scoffs, bending over to get stove running, taking out  bags of ingredients  to set on table near her. He gets three pots-not sure how many they will need but three is always good number, and takes knives and boards for cutting too, setting them on  table. It is big enough to contain hundred, thousand pots size of mountains, yet still he can walk around it in but breath.

‘’Thank you. You didn’t need to bother with rest.’’ She says softly (but not weakly-waves and water and tide can be short, and slow, and passive, yet they crush all challenges and shape shore and grind down rock and mountains), arranging them all for use, inspecting spotless steel ( _clean, clean, clean_ ). Grey watches with interest- you never know how she will cook today. Sometimes it will be with cauldrons as in his youth, and sometimes it will be on stick and bonfire as if they were on run, and sometimes she will use strange, curious technology that won’t be invented for ages to come.

‘’No problem at all, lady.’’ He answers as she puts vegetables on old wooden board.

‘’So what are we making?’’ He asks her, and stops confused as she raises her head and smiles in thin, teasing way that makes him think he is about to be pranked.

‘’Did you happen to be ask him what he would like.’’ She doesn’t ask, already knowing the answer, by no means of magic- there is certain sort of wisdom and understanding you gain with untold ages, until all of life is but one same story whose all variations have been used, fate’s creativity dried up, and until all people meld in one face so you can look at person and know each step they will take, trace all possible patterns of their actions through all times.

‘’I... Um....I didn’t... Oh no. Oh my...’’ He said, voice getting tinier and weaker with each word, until he was left gaping and with eyes wide, frozen still as thousand thoughts swirled through his head, working furiously like fast, overheated gears.

‘’Do not worry please.’’ Cinderella said, giggling slightly at his expression. ‘’ It won’t matter much this time, we will make something nice everybody would like, and he will be happy whatever you bring. Which is something that needs work, and why you should ask next time. Now please cut onion.’’

Dutifully, as if she was dressed in brilliant gold and heavy  velvet,  he puts apron on and starts doing as she orders.  Centuries ago he would have been shocked, but long life at hut which operated on premises of ‘’ no work, no food’’  quickly got him rid off his beliefs what works were beneath man and prince. _If you could hunt and eat rabbits raw you can cook soup_ , Vasilisa said.

They are preparing vegetables and meat for soup and sandwiches and dishes, him cutting things up, her adding different spices and measuring how is cooking progressing ( some of those plants, he suspects, can’t even be found on Earth) and fill kitchen with perfect scent that makes nostrils cry with elation. Nobody could resist them- Cinderella lived long enough to figure out perfect recipes. Wars have been fought over lesser things.

‘’Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? If you continue like this it will be much easier for rest of way. As long as you don’t spoil them of course. You know how they say.’’ Cinderella said after almost forty minutes, bringing steaming pots off stove.

‘’ The way to a man’s heart is through stomach. Or ribs in other cases.’’ He answered while laying sandwiches on a plate, trying to arrange them in something funny and cute before giving up.  Taste alone would be good enough, and he couldn’t allow himself to be too forward. Especially if Ivan didn’t like whatever shape he came up with, or had bad associations...

‘’Would be much easier if I could do some simpler spells. But alas luck is not on my side.’’ He spoke with half bored, half bitter , all wry voice. Wizardry was same as other paths of sorcery- way to wield magic, with it’s dangers and blessings. Magic that  was least likely to go mad and wild, but also one that required most preparation. Power of sigils and signs and diagrams, of drawings and letters and numbers, it couldn’t be cast at will. At very least it required forming a very detailed shape of sigin in mind and air, for which he never had much patience nor skill.

‘’’We make with what we have to do. Every tool has it’s uses.  Besides, food cooked by hand always tastes better.’’ Well, unless one is using  kitchen spells. Or is some sort of family guardian or house fey, with who there is magic even in cleaning of toilets. Grey knows though she is right-wizards may take time and effort to cast spells, but they can always know what to expect. In all three (or was it two? Or four? He is mixing it all up) centuries of his  life his spells never misfired. If he asked for candle to be lit, it was.  There was no self immolation or flames changing color or turning in hedgehog.

Still, it was easy to be bit envious of Vasilisa and Cinderella, especially as, having lived in city mostly bare of sorcerers, he thought himself reasonably skilled. Vasilisa was witch, creature of action and movements, and though it worked best with specific rituals, she could turn each step and act in trigger for spell, or weave magic in knots and threads to see her will fulfilled, to tear down fortresses and burn down entire countries. He hardly believed when, in rare moment of tenderness, she confessed to him that she started off weaker then he, a minor talent that was atrophied from decades of misuse, not smidgen of true power even when compared to half mad hedge witch fraud. But centuries of work and practice changed that, and would do so for him, if he chose to pursue that path.

Cinderella’s path he couldn’t determine, though he suspected she was mage, maker of charms and amulets and shaper of magic in tools and mundane forms ( he had no proof but it seemed logical to him- three and three and three, always repeating, three differences that made one, wizard and witch and mage). He only knew that, unlike him and Vasilisa, who called magic from themselves, she drew it from outside and manipulated power surrounding her- though unlike most of such sorcerers, who drew it from emotions of others, she pulled power from stones and seas and trees. And he knew she rarely used it, though her body could handle to hold storms-it was too wild and unrestrained. Cinderella could ask for candle to burn or shade to hide her from Sun, and world would set itself alight and night would shroud planet for all times.

He thought not of Baba Yaga. For all men and legends called ancient crone witch (which was most often used by ignorant and small-minded as term for evil sorcerer, or woman with too much wits and bravery), Mistress of hut on chicken legs had no need of mortal magic. Baba Yaga stated something, and reality hastily panicked and amde it real.

‘’You are ready now. Go and sweep him off his feet.’’ Cinderella said, handling Grey a pot and three dishes on big plastic plate, with piece of rough fabric to hold it from burning his hands.

‘’Thank you lady. I don’t know how to...’’ He was cut off as she shook her head and pointed him to door.

‘’No need, it was pleasure. If you really insist, please stop using that outdated title. Now go, I have more work.’’ And he departed with small bow that made Cinderella sigh, as she turned to sorting medium sized chests on other side of continent, stepping miles and countries over in step.

‘’So many useful and nice things.’’ She said aloud in dead language (to be more proper and frank, it was dead, turned in dust, scattered over four sides of world, it’s grave overrun by earth and mud and grass and it’s existence forgotten) as she sorted through trinkets in chest, taken from halls of dead universes where Baba Yaga gathered treasures across eons in hoard that would make any dragon envious and grieving, for as many rare and wondrous things were there, they were all thrown apart and scattered like trash over floors and skies and voids.

‘’It would be pity to get rid of it all.’’ Baba Yaga commanded that they get rid of it, because space was becoming too cluttered and They had no need of it. Which wasn’t really good reasoning in Cinderella’s opinion, but given if Baba Yaga got rid of all They didn’t need there would be no Creation Cinderella wisely kept her mouth shut.

But They said nothing about destroying all items. Just getting them out of vaults.

‘’Well, I guess I have to play door salesman.’’ Cinderella said, taking all seventeen chests on her back.

She didn’t deal with Fair Folk for most of her life without learning few basic tricks.

* * *

 

Ivan laid at his bed, wondering why Grey run out when he told him he hadn’t eaten anything.

He wondered what it was that made Grey  behave like that. It wasn’t as if it was some big thing, missing two meals-he could still have some light dinner. Maybe he somehow offended Grey? It would pity, not only because year with roommate who couldn’t stand you would be hard (though expected) but because he seemed interesting too, just like Anya (who he hoped to happen upon again at some later time). Talking with him would be much better then sitting alone in silence.

Perhaps Grey wasn’t angry at him, simply dissatisfied. He had been alone in room for surely much longer then Ivan, and now had to lose half space and share it with somebody like _Ivan_. No wonder he’d be unlikely to want to spend time with him.

But then, perhaps Grey was just not fond of people and closed spaces in general. Or had some other quirk-he did seem like very jumpy person.

Ivan’s lips quirked. Unlikely but still he could hope.

He checked watch and stared for second before he truly realized what time it was. He wasn’t really used to spending this part of day in silence-it was time for one of Dimitri’s favorite series (hard choice, given giant collection of movies and series he had, and not consistent, as he regularly updated and rearranged list), _The Miner’s Scheme_ , which was according one of most watched in world and already on way to becoming cult classic.

Their father was respectable man, which meant that his opinion on art – at least one produced by living people in last century, not called masterpiece in schools and meant for cultured elite-was just for centimeter higher then his opinion on students of art (professors and those who worked, if it could be called working, as artists were barely above criminals in his opinion, _fools and freeloaders and useless drug addicts, and immoral people disgustingly preying on children to draw them in life of decadence_ , he said and Ivan hid clay and plasticine and carving knives and brushes and paints). Fiction was worst in his opinion, things like movies and series,  books and comics were tolerated only on account of them never mentioning stories or anything _false_ and _not real_ and _invented_ in conversation with people outside of family.

Which, given father’s absolute refusal to acknowledge television could be used for anything else but watching sales reports and hearing news ( and even then done sparingly, given their company didn’t control most of media), and Vasili, aside from being every dream of their father come true also had bone deep aversion to all things he considered ‘’geeky’’ and  _The Scheme_ was included in that despite more or less everybody watching it.

Which meant that Dimitri, since it started airing ten years ago consistently dragged Ivan to watch it with him on bed in Dimitri’s room, on which Ivan was allowed as long he had no shoes, brought no food and didn’t try to cuddle or hug Dimitri. Which was very well, and he didn’t complain, but always thanked Dimitri for including him in his free time activities (Vasili did that too, but Ivan wasn’t very fond of ‘’helping’’ him with football training), even if he suspected it was mostly because Dimitri wanted to ramble about show to somebody who wouldn’t contradict him on his opinions on show, but it was okay-Ivan actually felt little guilty in taking pleasure at fact that Dimitri too didn’t want to be alone.

(He did contradict him once, at beginning. He didn’t get why anybody would want to watch show about thief who tricked and scammed hundreds to avenge loss of his mine-in which he hadn’t set foot once- and why didn’t he care about his workers. Dimitri went in long speech how it was work of decade, reexamining social norms and urges that drive man, and about how it had bravery to go against moral guardians and be unlike other cheap, simple-minded series with it’s  dubious ethics, grey morality and flawed characters, and Ivan was just too dumb to get it.

Ivan was silent after that, even if he still disagreed. There was good, and there was bad, white and black, and nothing in between. Rules were rules and they must not ever be broken).

He was actually missing grim show, even if after decade he had no idea what main character’s name was. How things change.

Then, with almost bang doors opened, Grey walking in with plastic board and...was that a giant pot covered by some sort of carpe? With smug smile almost not noticeable under his beard.

‘’I brought you lunch! Big enough to make up for breakfast! As well as dinner. And breakfast for tomorrow.’’ He said, putting board on table next to his bed with loud thud as Ivan stared with graceless, gaping mouth with complete astonishment and horror.

_Oh no._

_He is  sweetest man ever._

_It must have cost him much._

_And I thought so bad of him._

_How will I repay him for this?_

* * *

 

Boy lowered to ground, cracking dry, mud coated autumn leaves, dirt clinging on his baggy pants as he looked over tracks, murmuring himself in beard, tracing tracks in air over them, before letting out stream of dirty, peasant curses and cuss words.

‘’Perfect! More trouble! That damned woman!’’ Damned was said in same way you would curse at person who pointed you out your car was broken and launched avalanche of trouble that was smaller, but faster then it would have come on it’s own.

Outside of Forest, Cinderella murmured  ‘’Language.’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of worldbuilding here. Magic will be expanded upon.  
> The Miner's Scheme in my idea is really good actually, and challenging for all reasons Dimitri listed. But he presented it bit too rough and uncaring, and combination of that, Ivan's lack of interest in charming rogues and morally ambigious characters and belief that rules and law must be respected at all cost has resulted in massive lack of love for show.


	14. All play no work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moments of relative peace, for some anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling horrible, trying to start my creativity.

‘’Get down!’’ The doll shouted, whipping out her knitting needles as she jumped away, giant spider’s legs stomping down on where she was moments before, sharper and stronger then steel knives, crushing rock in sand.

Vasilisa threw herself down, rolling across earth, dust staining her skirt, pebbles and stones digging in her ribs.  Once out of immediate reach, she rose her hand and opened her palm, letting strands of magic weave in knots and patterns in matter of seconds, arcane power feeling like sand and glass racing across her skin until bright golden white light exited from her fingers, blinding siders, sending them skittering back, screeching and falling.

‘’All those sorcerers meddling with technology in their towers, and nobody thought to make giant can of pesticide?’’ Doll growled, stabbing one with her needle in beneath stomach, rolling away to avoid thick grey-brown blood that rolled out.

Vasilisa reached in herself, ushering strength of her impatience and irritation and even smidgen of fear in coals and embers that rested inside her, trying to roar them back to pyre, the cold grey air and mists fighting against her. Finally she succeeded, and heat like that of molten magma shot out of her, the whip of flame and scorching smoke igniting spiders all around them.

‘’I will need new dress after this is over.’’ Doll murmured, getting closer to her charge, showing off torn fabric and wooden legs. Vasilisa made note to stitch some especially elaborate embroidery after this.

‘’You know, Ivan could have been my worst enemy, and I still would have put my life on line to finish his Story. This is job for _princes_ and _heroes_ and _questers_. Not _ash-girls_ and _witches_ and donors.’’ Vasilisa spoke, watching another horde of spiders draw closer.

‘’But he was your good friend and you didn’t.’’ Doll pointed out.

‘’Of course not. I have faith in his abilities. And I did kill his murderer.’’ Doll sighed and resigned herself  to continuing to clean Hut’s basement(s).

* * *

 

Ivan was watching in wide eyed wonder, jaws almost slack and lips wobbling as Grey dragged small table over  to him, and set plate and pot on it. He opened pot, letting white smoke rise to his freckled nose, breathing in soft and subtle smell of broth, thin and soft and pleasant like moonlight breaking through silk sheet, full of meat and potato, free of bothersome spices and  annoying sauces.

Grey smiled, seeing how Ivan’s eyes shone, and took a large spoon, sipping brown orange broth in plate. Ivan lowered his head and spoke a quiet, shy  ‘’Thank you.’’

Slowly, Ivan dipped his spoon in the broth, pulling out thick liquid and single piece of pale yellow potato, blowing in it to cool it down, watching bubbles and spots of orange flow through it.

‘’Don’t worry, it has cooled down.’’ Grey said, and Ivan ducked down head and spoke quick  ‘’Of course’’  before pulling spoon in and tasting the meal. It wasn’t what he expected. It was better. Warm but not too hot,  potato soft, breaking in pieces at slightest touch of teeth, only slightly salted,  the soup thick but not too much, clear enough and not mushy like puddle after rain, lacking peppers or carrots or parsley or any more unnecessary spices that drowned senses and pricked tongue and confused gums. He immediately took another spoon, then another, then several  again.

‘’I guess you like it?’’ Grey asks, smile twinkling under beard. Ivan stops, puts down spoon splattered with soup stains and filaments of soft, chewy meat and answers.

‘’Yes! It is really amazing. So good and tasty, and soft and ...and... quiet?’’ He says, words flying out at speed comparable to bullets.

‘’Quiet?’’ Grey asks, and it is calm, curious and mirthful, but Ivan doesn’t hear that, doesn’t see that smile is still friendly and warm, he just thinks of Vasili’s grins and his father’s short, cutting interrogations as he flushes and tenses and lets words run like terrified ducklings.

‘’Yes, I mean-no-not like that, of course it is quiet, taste isn’t sound, I mean it isn’t strong, not boggled down and overwhelming and I...’’ He stops when Grey raises his hands ( _ginger hair flying by eyes, teeth bared as hand rises and fist curls and falls, falls, falls_ ).

‘’All right, get it now.’’  He said,  with slight nod, yet only thing Ivan saw was snap of his father’s jaws and curt _Stop please, you are boring and make no sense._

‘’Sorry.’’ He flushed and continued eating.

‘’No need to apologize. I am glad you like it.’’  Grey said

‘’I mean, it’s dumb, right? Soup can’t be quiet...or any food..’’ Ivan went on. _He is too nice._

‘’Maybe, but makes sense to you. I always describe my clothes as scruffy.’’  Grey continued.

‘’Scruffy?’’ _That means dirty, right? But what did it have to do with this?_

‘’Yeah. I mean  I love clothes that  look old and dusty, as well as little uneven  and shaggy, but some people might be confused by that, but it isn’t problem. Just like you and quiet soup.’’ He explained.

‘’Aaaah. Yes I see thanks.’’ _That makes sense. Should have gotten it sooner._

‘’Why won’t you eat?’’ Ivan asked, putting down his plate.

‘’Ah, no need for that. I can...’’  He stopped talking when Ivan got up, took another plate and poured broth in it, handling it to Grey.

‘’Nope. You gotta eat. Now, and this is too much for me.’’ _Oh gods what did I do. This is bad, this is rude, he will be mad... What if he has already eaten..._

Grey blinked, made O face, then took plate and started eating. Soon he licked his lips, like dog would, and humming in appreciation.

‘’Well, Zola truly keeps her standards.’’ He murmured, gobbling down food like wolf in winter devouring sheep.

‘’Um... She helped you?’’ _Oh poor woman, bothered so much for me.._

‘’More like made it all. And don’t worry, it wasn’t problem for her. She likes  cooking and helping others.’’ _Yes, obviously, very nice woman._

‘’Still...’’ Ivan said, looking down on pot and broth in front of him.

‘’Does she need some help with anything? And you?’’ He asked, and Grey smiled.

‘’So far no, but maybe soon. You don’t need  to though. For me, well just getting to know you better will be enough.’’ Ivan smiled small smile and nodded.

_It seems this will be great after all._

* * *

 

Anya rubbed her eyes.

The glow of laptop was starting to hurt, weak electric light stabbing her eyeballs, making them slightly burn and rest of her body lose energy, ache and fatigue setting in as she stared on latest page, half of it blank. And the other half...

Nothing.

Nothing that mattered at least.  All of it was dumb, disgusting shit, those few measly, sparse sentences she managed to write down. There was more blank space then words, her document more resembling scenario for theater play then book. What few pathetic  shards of dialogue and descriptions she managed to drag out of her fried brain were left hanging lonely on page, short, choppy sentences.

It hurt to read them. Everything felt so wrong, so horrible and dry, so ugly. Just it’s appearance is awkward and unfinished, and  then content! Oh, so boring and clumsy, stilted dialogue and uneven, rough descriptions, some overblown, others shallow, all faulty.

She didn’t know what she would rather break first, the laptop or her own skull. Story was in there, all proper epiteths and descriptors, all means of characterization and details and backstories, and yet, it was as if they were too far to reach, to dig out, leaving them stilted and decaying inside her.

It was summer, damn it! Even with job she had so much free time. She was supposed to be inspired and happy and productive and working, not stuck aching and annoyed like this...

_Am I just going to waste three months like this, and end up with hoards of unfinished works._

_As if I am getting more then several comments, anyway. Or anybody who would beta read them here._

_Knock. Knock. Knock_ .

It was slow, rhythmic, soft and dull knocking on wooden door, that sounded like tingling of bells and coins. Didn’t even last long. However, she snarled as she got up, her shoulder blades cracking as she dragged herself to door.

‘’Yes?’’ She asked, lips almost pouting, her voice coming out full of disdain and tiredness, staring at Zola’s bent and wrinkled form, still by several centimeters taller then her, beautiful silver-almond braid falling over shoulders, several boxes at side.

‘’Hello Miss Anya, sorry if I am disturbing you. Should I go.’’ Perhaps  she could have said yes, but Zola surely wasn’t there to bother without reason, and it didn’t do well to be rude to woman cleaning your room, especially given it’s state gave Anya enough reason to close door half way and block view with her own body.

‘’No, you aren’t.  Just bit annoyed.’’ Zola nodded but said nothing, thankfully.

‘’We are clearing some old things from storage, which bosses don’t want to keep,  and there is quite few of things that would be pity to throw out. So I wanted to ask you and rest of stuff if you wanted to take something for free. I would hate to have to get rid of them all and ruin it all, when they could find new home and use.’’ _So now we are having door to door salesman too._

_Still, free stuff is never to be ignored._

She cast look through boxes, digging through items inside. Zola was speaking truth. There was lot of pretty and expensive, if quite old stuff inside-just thought of throwing it all out as if it was common trash sent shivers through  body, and rumble of irritation in her gut. It also all seemed like personal stuff, some sort of inheritance. It was very strange Yakanievnas would throw it out.

_No respect for family treasures, maybe. Or, who can know what sort of memories those things are tied to? Perhaps old crones don’t want any more reminders then they have already got._

There was some sort of perfume bottle, or at least she assumed so. It was big and shaped as cuboid, with thick walls of dark brown glass, decorated with mosaic made of tiny orbs, depicting woman travelling through different seasons in different stages of life, hound at side and spark of flame in palm.

Second was a wooden box, slightly dusty, that seemed to have been grown, not carved. Wood was polished and firm, smooth and shifting in colour from beige white to deep black, and box seemed to be composed of roots and branches, with pine green velvet inside.

Last was brass teapot, that seemed as if it would melt in moment, full of curves and round shapes, such that it seemed strange to believe it was solid, that it wouldn’t slip through fingers like water, colour of warm rusty sunset and cold winter forests.

‘’These ones. They are very beautiful.’’ Could be useful also, and look very old and finely made.

‘’Great. Thanks a lot!’’ Then she moved on, as Anya was left staring, trying to invent origins for them, retreating in her apartment, thinking Zola didn’t catch crumbs and rags over floor.

* * *

 

‘’So?’’ Vasilisa asked boy-young man, really, just few centuries younger then her, who was stepping around spider corpses, as doll grumbled and cleaned blood.

‘’They are progressing. Finally figured out equipment won’t work. Found old nest, planning bait.’’ He said, scowling.

‘’And how is pair?’’ Vasilisa continued, casting spells, turning corpses in dust and ashes.

‘’How else but same? Flying around, being mother hens, flitting and being sickly sweet, heedless of dangers, panicking.’’ Boy scoffed.

‘’Anything else?’’ So far, nothing surprising.

‘’Yup. Found tracks... **it’s** tracks.’’  His eyes narrowed, and doll stopped cleaning.

‘’Oh. Great. Just what we needed.’’ _With every century it is getting worse and worse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, please comment.


	15. First function of donor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan goes over to help and watch over three old ladies, or so he thinks. He finds one, and loads of curiosities. Baba Yaga struggles with playing helpless safe granny.  
> Grey doesn't panic, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, 15th chapter! We are at half of story now!  
> Title is one of Propp's functions of folktale, the 12th.  
> Sorry for wait, thanks for reading, hope you like it, please review.

_In spring, The Forests  suffocate._

_The season of ice and dark is gone, the last rims of white chased away, sunlight beating through branches, marching through frozen air and ever-present fog, intent on winning war in slow  and calculated moves. Death lays down on earth, and relinquishes her choking hold, letting life come back, letting it grow and prosper as it feasts on her innards, so that land nearly shakes under weight of so many blades of grass, until thin paths nearly collapse beneath so many bushes, and trees grow higher and higher, adorned in new branches and tiny soft leaves, weighted down with new blooms. Flowers are everywhere, a small fields of wildflowers that are splashes of brilliant red and purple against endless green, burning in mind’s eyes, and giant roses with flowers as perfect as their thorns are sharp curling around trees. You can’t breathe without choking on petals, the thousand sweet smells are everywhere, making your head ache, and air is full of pollen, swimming through air, rendered golden by sun’s rays, your skin buried under it._

_In summer, The Forests stand._

_The restless, boundless energy of previous season calms down, settles in languid but powerful motion. The soil has been sated, winds satisfied, and so growth can relax, can move at pace other then desperate and starved, can be something other then war and feud, then screaming scratching and crawling of various plants trying to conquer more territory, to regain what they  had lost. Trees regain their composure and power, and they hold steady and assured presence, their gaze soft but ever-present, their careful gazes almost measurable, and rarely do they get up to walk, only when there is great need, such as great fire, as colourful and heavy as scarf,  that seeks to leave nothing but ashes and new beginnings in wake ( trees are rather selfish things, you see), or when there is such delicious piece of gossip that they can’t resist but to stretch out their roots and skitter through ages and plains. Their leaves are deep and green and thick, and sunlight murmurs through crowns, and grass stands proud._

_In autumn, The Forests prepare._

_It is strange time, the autumn. Life stacks it’s last fortresses and dances in it’s final outposts.  The branches are heavy with fruits, fat and bulbous as skulls, and in each is contained a medicine and poison, a sweet memory and crisp sorrow, blessing and curse.  Trees shed their bark like snake getting rid of old skin as cracks and scars spread over it, as it turns grey and orange and is trampled in dust by unseen forces. Leaves fall down, dancing with wind, as death slowly approaches and bleeds green out of them. They whirl down, spotted and dry, yellow as mists of pollen so long ago, shining, cold orange like thin, bent copper coins, halfway melted, red like dirty blood gushing out of grievous wound, and finally brown as ancient, rotting leather. Somewhere far away there are harvests and plagues, but not here, not ever. Only   animals that run and gather food with last dying embers of strength, only leaden skies and low clouds as storms hold their balls and mud rises, as trees plan._

_In winter, The Forests wait._

_Death has walked far and wide, her sickle sharp and curved, and she has taken her leave, played her part, and now waits as she prepares for her final steps in dance of seasons, in flirting of light and dark, the birth and fall of crops. Now she sings as night grows long and deep, as she seats herself in house built of life’s bones, and lets her cold robes trail over world, white as bones, as her hair. Thousand upon thousand  snowflakes fall down, each a gem building on weight that presses on earth, chill creeping below ground, trying and failing (for now) to reach planet’s molten heart. Under frozen blankets animals sleep, lulled in gentle, static slumber, and rivers and lakes too dream, turned in crystals and diamonds stronger then steel, fishes and sea dragons visible through tough ice. Branches, bare and thin, sway in cackling wind and watch nests fall down and be carried, and trees proudly bear their jewelry of frost and icicles, as they watch over wolves trailing through dark, and dream of berries they will bear again one day._

_But heart of The Forests never changes._

_There is no season, at best something in between, one of those periods of heats and rains, of dry winds and frozen air that stands  before and after, where seasons meld and stretch out until year isn’t sure what it should be like. There is swamp there, perhaps, and always, always a twilight, There are wonders unseen and forgotten. A place that fears nothing, except for crone in walking hut            ( which is just healthy  and rational state of mind shared by all things, anyway), and which always sings and hungers and reaches outwards. It needs people, you see, witches and dragons, farm boys and princesses, heroes and villains, to fill up it’s loneliness and thirst._

_And now  it wants a Tsarevich._

 

* * *

 

Vasilisa was embroidering  her current project, a shawl of velvet and midnight, with intensity suggesting that if Grey didn’t soon shut up his hide would be next target of her needle. If he noticed however, that didn’t impede him.

‘’ How can they-she ask for him now?  he wasn’t here long enough, he ahs just started, it is far too soon!’’ Grey shouted, pacing around  like nervous dog, and for moment his teeth seemed like wolf’s fangs, old and thoroughly used and bloodied, but in blink they were again normal, blunt teeth yellowed out by constant smoking.

‘’ Babushkas don’t like waiting. That is how it is and there is no use complaining. Besides, usually we get to work with them moment we arrive.’’ Baba Yaga didn’t like this modernization. Too many people and processes. People used to come to hut, on quests, desperate and afraid, and  stare at ancient crone and be handed tasks and punishments moment they passed gates of bone. For an immortal they were rather impatient.

‘’But he knows nothing!’’ This was strange age, to Grey’s mind, where men moved further away from Forests and wild things and various demons that run over world, where sorcerers and arcanists were locked up in their towers far away from cities, where dangers of night and dusk were far away from waking mind, and tales that once dictated life, were part of common healthy reason as much as ‘’don’t go out in blizzard naked’’ or  ‘’ don’t jump in fast river if you don’t know to swim’’ were something even children scoffed at.  Some even dared to think that great and terrible Crone of Iron Forest  was nothing but thing of past, a harmless fright story, with broken fangs and dulled claws.

( They huffed and complained about it, that disrespect, but that was more out of habit and reputation. What people thought or said had no influence  on Their power. There were universes where they haven’t walked upon in thousands of years, where Baba Yaga was just a single obscure tale in dusty tomes of folklorist’s studies, and yet their iron and stone jaws were still as great and sharp, their hunger still as mighty and deep, their claws just as bloody and cutting, their gaze just as horrible and heavy. Tales didn’t shape Baba Yaga, but were shaped in turn.

And Story didn’t care, because there are universes where it is present just in drops, a shadow sometimes resembling history, though people still dream and tell tales, and  universes that drown in stories, where instead of blood-type doctors must first put on medical chart which role is yours, and no matter where Story has tides, and there will be days when it is shriveled thing ensuring third son finds coin on road among spaceships and flying cars, and someday there will be darkness and monsters and things that will walk Earth long after humanity is gone will look up to stars and invent rules about who dies and who lives,  learn to speak, to tell tales around camp fire.

And Cinderella will once again burn to gift them dawn.)

‘’No, he doesn’t. Just as he didn’t know before, just as I didn’t when I first walked up to here, just as you didn’t.’’ No tale could prepare you for that. They all grew up on them, on tale of bone fence and chicken legged huts, of children in ovens, mortar and pestle and broom of silver birch, but nothing could prepare you for how world was so much **more** inside the hut, the blood on knives in jaw as deep as cave, the weight of age longer then time pressing you down to floor. No story could prepare you for meeting Baba Yaga in truth, and through her two thousand years each time Vasilisa spoke with crone(s) was just as strange and magnificent as first, and terrible and fantastic  in new ways.

‘’She will eat him!’’ There were rules, put in place by and for Baba Yaga, because They were bored, rules that dictated who may be eaten and who not. Wandering through their domain was one of things that would make a man meal, because nobody could get there without trying ( even if they didn’t know, if they were lost, they were searching for ancient magic, for impossible, for wisdom and miracle and treasure) and oh how do Baba Yaga hate being bothered. Second are wicked and naughty and evil, which applies to spoiled rotten children  and great sinners alike ( for children may be innocent and clueless, but wickedness and cruelty are often almost absolute in them, for such small things can only hold so much).  And of course, those who failed tasks set before them.

‘’ You have so little faith in him? He has done so before, and besides they haven’t eaten anybody in years.’’ Ivans have died before, but  never, at least in this timeline, in Baba Yaga’s hut, for they always completed tasks. problems only came latter. But Vasilisa didn’t worry, because she trusted that at core Ivan was same as in all previous lives, and because Baba Yaga agreed not to eat people in order to fit in for decades, and if they decided to try mortal flesh again well it wouldn’t be first time their handmaiden snuck out hero while they chased (she was still, at core of her, a little ash girl, victim and sacrifice, forged out of kindness and spite, out of cruelty and abuse).

One way or other, they would get to happy ending. She was sure of that.

* * *

 

Ivan scratched his chin, feeling short, prickly remnants of shaved facial hair drag across thumb, pressing finger into the bone, and breathed hard and uneven as he tapped the floor with foot, trying to imagine what bosses would be.  Demanding and complaining? Grumpy and forgetful? Easily irritated and cruel? Mocking and bitter? Screaming and bored? Grey seemed bit afraid when Ivan told him what was in SMS  he got from Vasilisa, said old ladies were bit difficult and loony.

Well. Not in such clear yet nice words.

It took him some time to open elevator door. It was one of those heavy,  at least twenty years old thick monsters, made of low-quality steel with pane of thick, milky  glass in middle,  rust and tarnished, flatly applied layer of cheap brown paint fighting for dominance, in foolish attempt to seem like anything but door that you would find in forgotten prison in which minor criminals wasted away decades, and would have found it almost preferable to their usual living conditions if not for their starved abandoned families out there, with  one of those horrible handles- a circle cut in its surface, plastic half-disc in middle that required elaborate combination or rattling, twisting, begging and cursing before it would deign to open.

Inside was  just as lovely and welcoming. Floor that resembled tinfoil more then anything else, walls that appeared indecisive whether they were wood or plastic, a tiny mirror with edges like frost-kissed green driftglass that was put up to help with claustrophobia but only allowed you to watch you eyes as you puked, and in place of buttons some unholy hybrid of melted rubber and fossilized chewing gum. It was clear inside though, with not even one graffiti, rising his respect for janitor-housekeeper-maid of all kinds Zola Pepelna to astronomical heights.

The elevator’s movement was surprisingly smooth. It didn’t even make tiniest noise. Rides were often uncomfortable in such old things, edges scraping at walls, wood groaning in way that made you think the box was going to fall apart, while you suffocated on dust and  air that would have smelled horribly if it hadn’t turned dry and old and furrowed in  heart of elevator, leaving subtle hints of disgusting stench that was ever-present but not too strong and hard to identify, like whispers too low to be understood. He barely noticed when elevator stopped, and it took him only to minutes to fumble through arcane steps needed to open manual door.

‘’Woah.’’ In front of him stretched out a field.  A field of great long grass ( which went up to his knees, but sometimes felt as if they should be as tall as trees of Forest), swaying in lazy breeze under pink-blue sky, same shade as drowned skin. Left and right, east and west they sprawled out, under sky that held no clouds and no sun but there was still light as in early morning (in distance, red rider rode on red horse), and when he stepped out door closed and then was gone, and he was left in field, yellowed stalks scraping and caressing his jeans, ghost of soft dusty  scent, as of dried herbs, playing around his nose.

His lungs ached. They needed, had to, begged to swallow all of that air around him. He had never felt anything like that, not even in the Forests. Not even few  national parks in the world had such clean, pure atmosphere. Hundred, thousand years ago people may not have cared for it, but in this time he was born into there was not a place free of pollution, and tears came to his eyes, and ears burned with shame.

 _‘’This is what air should be like. This is what it was once, long ago. ‘’_ This place was ancient. He knew it in his bones, could feel it in his blood- a murmured song, a greeting,  whispered recognition of something humanity left behind and destroyed, but which their blood remembered and still cried out for sometimes. And yet, it was young- young, and new, and fresh.  It was one of the first fields, the ones that came long before there was life to walk upon and feed onto them, back from beginning of history, as humans would term it. And it was lost, it was no more, it disappeared and would never come back, and only thing left was this memory.

_Come._

_Walk._

_Follow._

They called out to him, the grass and wind, in voices quieter and weaker then those of Forest, that felt as if somebody was  weakly whispering just in his ear, words melding into slow song that called out to his blood. And he followed, as they showed him images and pulled him forward and back, south and north, with same knowledge birds possess to migrate during winter.

‘’Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.’’ He though, he said, to the grass kissing his clothes, to pleasant smell he was inhaling, to wind caressing his shoulders, to forgotten earth he was standing to, to drowned sky above him, to red rider in distance, for he knew should he stay here, and he would hadn’t they called out to him, he would remain there forever, until he became dust, or until song in his blood was stronger then his memory or desire and he became part of field.

So he walked, until he found a door, woven of thickets and vines, green as emerald and gray as limestone, and thrice did he thank the field again, and knocked upon door.

‘’Ummm, hi. I am Ivan Nikolayevich. Your granddaughter employed me as cook and also, ah to help you around. I hope I am not late.’’ And then vines reached out, and he passed through green and living and thicket scraping by and said goodbye and-

The stars glowed down at him from indigo heavens.

The pine trees rose all around, and each lead was like jade needle, and scent of sap and pitch filled his clothes but didn’t overwhelm him. These trees weren’t as mighty as those in Forest, but they grew  unruly and wild, not at all dine rows planted in city parks, roots mingling and branches embracing, some thin as bone, others fat and bulbous like flesh swollen from snake’s bite. Fallen pinecones, chips broken off, littered  snow below, a perfectly white mass of hard crystals that let out crunching sound, like snapping of branch with each step.

The air was chilly, such that his nose turned pink, but it wasn’t terribly cold. It felt like fresh winter morning, when first snow fell down and children went out to play, wrapped in warm jackets and shawls ( if their father allowed it, and if not they stood by window and watched outside). And though he was in summer clothing, cold didn’t trouble him, but instead felt refreshing and rejuvenating, like drinking a glass of cool water after demanding training sessions. And though snow was deep and high, and crystals, as beautiful as mist kissed glass touched his trousers, he wasn’t soggy or cold, for there was scorching song in his blood, a memory held deep in bones, of dance so intense and consuming that even greatest snowstorm couldn’t freeze him (for they were people born of blizzards and stubborn soil hiding warm secrets, and so they began dances and songs hotter then blazing vodka and brimming rakia to keep cold and death away).

Beyond, far away yet so close to his heart, wolves wailed. They too sang, alongside wind, joining the snow, calling out to moon, murmuring to stars. There had been no words, not yet, but he understood, the gift of snakes upon him, knew their desire, their appreciation of this beauty, their joy as they run over high, peaks and wide bases of mountains, in chase that never ended, a cycle of life and death overlooked by clouds and constellation.

_Go on._

_No waiting._

_Continue soon._

They called out to him, pines and wolves and things that slept beneath snow and compost and dust, and so he went, even as his tears fell down on ground and became crystals of snow, thanking this place his ancestors left but held in hearts, that made them what they were. He went, guided by humming of trees and wolves, between mountains, where black rider upon black horse rode, and came upon door woven of branches and icicles, brown as frozen ground and clear as tears, and thrice did he thank woods and mountains again before he knocked.

‘’Uhhhh, hi. I am Ivan Nikolayevich. Your granddaughter employed me as cook and also, ah to help you around. I hope I am not late.’’ And then he passed through door, as green pine needles floated to him, as snowflakes tugged on his sleeves and he said goodbye-

The bones rose around him.

Like endless ribcage, they arose, white as pearls, reaching high above him, grizzled and marked, missing chips and pieces, as if they have been chewed on by enormous  fangs. Below, a giant spine sprawled out, instead of carpet, and yellow undertones were all over it. Between bones red walls rose, going from fever-scarlet to pale, cold stricken greyish pink. On thin strings of grey  small teeth were hanged, seemingly hollowed out and rotten, resembling old and cracked porcelain.

There were few windows, letting in brilliant sunlight. Beyond, red rider rode on red horse.

The air was hot and stagnant, wet and sloppy mess that pressed on his throat. He would start to sweat soon but thankfully there was no sound, no smell here. The song in his blood subsided, went quiet and whimpering as he followed corridor, looked over to see which creature’s bones interior should reflect.

_This must be some test. Plus, old witches are free to be as creepy as they want to be. Maybe this is some...goth thing?_

Finally he came upon door of bone and teeth, yellow and white, and once again did he knock and speak.

‘’Huhhhh, hi. I am Ivan Nikolayevich. Your granddaughter employed me as cook and also, ah to help you around. I hope I am not late.’’ And door opened with clicking and clacking and he went through.

It was finally right place. He guessed so at least, because apartment looked like everything bunch of old grannies would want-  walls somewhere between cream, orange and lime, furniture that seemed to be made of sawdust and and greasy, polished wood that was contemplating how to best imitate cheap polyester, plastic tablecloths composed of squares and floral patterns, lattice lace white curtains, giant steel stove, likes of which haven’t been used since before he was born, that seemed more similar to ancient  sacrificial altar, a cupboard with tasteless golden designs showing hundred thick glasses for alcohol and dark violet teacups behind pane of greenish glass. Everything smelled of dust, as if it hadn’t been cleaned since March of Forests. They probably kept sewing kit in biscuit packages.

‘’ So you got by, did you? Worth something then. Tell me, how you like our decor?’’ Voice called out behind him, cracking and drawn out, as if spiders were stuck in speaker’s throat and kept pricking her windpipe with hairy legs. Ivan turned, already expecting to find a woman or three by doors, though there was nobody there when he entered, at least. And truly, normal if old fashioned door was far away, and he was at end of hallway, staring at old woman.

He had met old people before, of course. He had met his grandparents few times before they died, who were bitter and shivering, withered and broken people, lulling in past accomplishments and hissing at him, tugging his chin and pulling  his hair and complaining. He had met his classmate’s grandparents who wore gaudy things to outshine greys and wrinkles and faulty way they walked. He met old people on various charities his father hosted for senior homes, minds foggy and tongues dull.  They were all so different yet same. Tired, soft and pliant, minds like  wet cotton candy, bodies withered and wasted, gazes sometimes unfocused and otherwise squinting. Time had sneaked upon him, slowly and languidly, filed them down, shaved away edges and sapped all strong and harsh and active about them away until they were left with shadows and ache and memories and fugue.

This woman wasn’t like that. If anything, old age had snuck upon her while she was sleeping with axe, and ended up in hospital on intensive care.

Oh, she did seems old, of course. He doubted he ever met person whose hands were more brown spots then anything, whose thing fingers resembles dry twigs snapping in wind, whose hair whirled around white as bleached bones, whose skin was so wrinkled and sagged, who was so bent and hunched as if weight of universes was upon her. But  her eyes glinted and shone like those of hungry cat, and burned like funeral pyre, and her smile was full of danger and malice, and she held herself aloft with dignity and steadiness that would shame mountains, and seemed to be crafted from iron and poison. She seemed all greater for her age, as if it made her bigger and better then when she was at peak of youth and strength, like a tomb, or architectural discovery, or family inheritance, or like sea or desert or ancient jungle.

‘’It was unlike anything I saw. Very interesting, obviously took a lot of work, congratulations on it. Very nice blend of  uh, old timey, no I mean traditional and unique, uh...’’ He didn’t know how magic worked but he was sure putting landscape inside corridor took some work.

‘’ Oh yes, you could say so.  I suppose, but it is easy for us, as for others, well we can’t bother with lack of strive. Not that I want to brag, because then everybody would know, and we don’t like people talking nonsenses about our house. Won’t tell anybody anything, I would hope. You seem like a sweet boy.’’ She continued talking, walking past him, wide dark skirts that seemed heavier then her almost swallowing him up, and he nodded.  _Makes sense, wouldn’t want tourists to bore them._

‘’Thank you for kind words, Miss-Mrs...’’ He said, bowing his head as old woman lowered herself down on couch, her hair and black shawl falling all over it. Only then did he realize that his eyes couldn’t seem to agree whether she was tall or tiny, that it seemed to change depending on how light fell on her.

‘’ Call me babushka. Everybody does, at least everybody whom I don’t deal with. Same for my sisters- they are not here now, but you may see them later, or next time you come.’’  She had large teeth, he noted, very strong and well-kept. Seemed like teeth horse would be jealous of, teeth that could bite through steel and bone.

‘’ I’d call you babushka Yakanievna, if you would allow.’’  He asked, as woman produced out of somewhere dirty plate full of throat lozenges and took whole hand (though amount didn’t seem to diminish) and dropped them all in mouth- complete with foil still on. She didn’t seem to chew, which was good, because he had feeling those teeth would produce sound similar to bomb exploding.

‘’ Well of course you can. You will know when I don’t like something, I bite when I am unhappy.’’ Her smile never faltered, curved and sharp as a sickle. Her voice sounded like chuckle of executioner, like thing wolves and bears told ghost stories about.

‘’Now, would you please go in pantry in bring me biscuits and cream? They are in grey tin box, behind green doors.’’ Ivan nodded, and turned already expecting door to be behind him, estimation that proved correct. He walked in and was faced with rows and rows of shelves, stretching into infinity, seeming to bend under weight of various possessions, hidden in shadows. Pale blue light, weak and timid, came from herbs hung to dry, far above. Next to him he found a plate and tiny tin box that seemed to have once been used for tea, light silver with strange red letters and giant black print of information, dates and contents and nutritional values, that didn’t seem to belong to any of producers he knew to be in Rustaya or nearby countries. It weighted more then it should.

_So bigger inside works for food packages too? Cool._

He came back to couch and found old woman gesturing at table with her bony hands, and on it he  saw several spoons and little knives. Spoons were tiny, as if for sugar, and as copper as autumn leaves, and knife seemed barely bigger then his thumb and just as thick.

‘’ Pour me cream over those biscuits, make me a cookie, then cut them up in pieces. I fear I can’t do that now- my back is aching, and hands shake so much, and chewing is so tiring...’’ Her gaze was as directed and scorching as that of Sun during August noon in desert, and she seemed more grounded and stable then continents, and light glinted off her teeth, which looked extremely healthy for woman of such advanced age, with only slightest, dull greyish undertone. Not something that you would expect from woman that looked like ancient mummy, albeit well-preserved.

_That must be why she is using so much magic. Surely it’s easier then straining joint and such._

_Why doesn’t she then do this too?_

_Stupid, rude! Of course it’s easier to have somebody else do work. And must be safer, magic still takes work surely it’s hard for such old lady..._

Ivan got up from  crotchet placemat, one of those that seem to be made of fat long string that may or may not be transformed worms and its your backside, and walked  towards tiny table, which, as all tables of it’s kind, was in center of room on dusty woolen carpet of eye-hurting colours, at least five steps away from each piece of furniture and so low Ivan almost had to sit on floor to get needed items off it. Old people had strange sense of style and strange need to inconvenience themselves even for smallest things, as if they were trying to punish themselves for mistakes made and not amended before it was too late.

Ivan set down plate and box on thick glass and even thicker placemat, which more like net composed of some polyester fabric whose holes were patched with tissue-thin pieces of cream fabric, then had some torn lace attached to make it seem elegant, and ugly orange image to attempt to look les depressing. He put plate on glass, covering black silicone circle that anchored glass to table.  That made awful, wince-inducing sound as it clattered down, but woman made no complaint, still smiling that same wide smile, so Ivan let out a breath and didn’t start apologizing.

 _Just me being whiny and oversensitive. Must look normal for job, can’t bother poor old lady._ Moment thought crossed his mind, old lady let out something that began as cackle and ended as cough. he turned to help, but she waved him off while muttering various fragments of sentences, such as _no need for that_ and _don’t worry_ and _just make me cookies please._

He opened the box. Inside were biscuits, thin and dry brown circles that looked ready to crumble in dust, but felt firmer and stronger then marble as he laid eight of them on plate.  Beside them were two compartments with  what he supposed was cream. His eyebrows narrowed as he picked up spoon, mouth opening then swiftly closing before question could escape from his throat ( thin, ancient lips judged as light glinted against teeth, and far away ash woman let out breath and smiled, as did all behind her), then he dipped spoon deep inside, putting bit of cream on all biscuits, spreading it with knife then cutting them in tiny pieces.

First compartment contained cream that bore more resemblance to gravy. It was grey, the nasty gray of old, washed out concrete, dust gathered in corners of room beneath furniture, frequently used cotton tissue. It felt sickly hot, as skin of shivering man dressed in dark clothes and wrapped up in blanket. It smelled of spit coating lips, of sweat-stained sheets, of dried tears.   In his head it conjured images of people unable to do enjoy what they adored, of willpower sapped away, stress and irritation building up but remaining weak and shallow, of doubt eating away at him, of decisions unmade before he gave them proper thought. A dull pain in chest, shoulders sagging under weight, voice inside calling him lazy and useless, a sadness he knew not source of swelling, everything stripped of comfort and softness, until he could barely stand to walk, to breathe. It seemed to reach out to him, to take all energy and emotion and strength and fill him up with gaping void, a hunger that made flesh consume itself, made organs eat each other...

Ivan smiled, tense and disapproving, and thought of park and animals, of Forest and snakes, and cut up two cookies.

Second was more like jam, or crushed jelly, parts of it like chopped up gum, others like melted leather. It changed colours, from indigo to crimson, one moment purple neon, other dim black as shadows. It was manic, alive, shifting and jumping and swirling, shifting from tireless whirling to languid movements in second. Unlike previous cream, this one seemed to desire to enter in him, to poison his mind and heart and enslave him wholly. It was freezing, as depths of space, as unknown world, and it was scorching, as war, as blood after nights of dancing and drinking and brawling. It had  let out multitudes of sounds, muffed but still there, of raw screams and cracked laughter and broken sobbing, of aching throats and animalistic shouting and dying coughing. It was thing written about in gothic romans and dreamed of by overdramatic playwrights, a disease of spirit and thought that spread through family lines, madness of death and greed that ruined kingdoms, the thing his family thought of people like...like..

 _You don’t exist_. He whispered in his head as he  cut up other two, and tried not to shiver.

‘’Mhhhm, that is good. These old teeth need to have food spoon-fed to them. Once I could have eaten a horse in one bite.’’ The woman said as he handed her plate ( the box, after he closed it, was gone). Her fingers were strangely long, and warped like driftwood, with nails that were like claws, as sharp as diamond shards.

‘’Come, sit here. Bring me remote on a way.’’ Ivan nodded and grabbed it off table, sitting right next to old woman, who patted  the seat. It wasn’t uncomfortable, mostly because he was sitting next to layers and layers of cotton and wool, as her dress seemed to be thicker then her body at least five times.

‘’My sisters and I always disagree on what to watch. They are out now, doing their business, so I have the TV all to myself. Ah, wonders and beauties of siblinghood.’’  _What are they doing, normal old woman things or witch things?_ Were they sitting on benches, feeding pigeons and collecting information on passing people ( which old women generally did at home too, standing at windows and spying at world moving below/ one offered more detailed breakdown of any infraction irritated bored granny can find, while other gave better vantage point). Or were they flying with their broomsticks, brewing potions and running through fields ( if their bones allowed that, of course).

_Perhaps both. Witches need friends too, so they can gossip about neighbors._

‘’My brothers do the same.’’ He said, chuckling at thought of Vasili and Dimitri arguing and shouting over what to watch, a football match  or movie, reality show or documentary, as he sat in between them to serve as buffer should fight ensue.

‘’And do you engage in it?’’ Humans, such argumentative and bothersome species. Always looking to start conflict and add new headache, as if old back didn’t hurt enough. They seemed to need trouble as much as they needed to breathe, or vampire had need for blood.

‘’Ah, not really. I don’t really watch TV or movies or  shows or anything, really,  so they just choose.’’ Old, CRT TV buzzed to life with click, taking several moments to  form picture out of pixels. He wasn’t sure if old TVs ever did that, or it was more strangeness.  Commercials come, promising cures for baldness, and his eyes itch at bright colours, but old lady thankfully switches channel fast.

‘’Good, no need to hurt your eyesight with that nonsense. Do you like reading?’’ Vasili hated it, father didn’t care, Dimitri enjoyed. Ivan winced at high-pitched voice rambling about Sasha Mikhailova’s newest book on motherhood. Old lady switched channel again.

‘’Not that either.’’   _I must sound very stupid and lazy_. Commercial too, this one about amazing restaurant just opening. Old lady cackled, rolled her eyes and switched channel again. Ivan bit down urge to cover his ears and shut eyes as screen bombarded him with images of neon food and amplified shouting.

‘’Not bad, people write and print everything these days. Better than when you couldn’t write anything, but still. Some people ought to think about what they waste paper and ink on.’’ It was bad from start, when they were painting on walls. Ruined nice caves, like they ruined everything else.

‘’Ah. I-well, I don’t have good reason really. I am just boring like that.’’ Probably wasn’t nice or smart to bore old lady with such useless nonsense, but then neither did it feel right to say nothing as she talked, even if it was typical complaining of old people. This woman seemed too awake and present to be lost in rambling to herself, she seemed to desire active conversation.

‘’ People aren’t boring. Tiresome and demanding and deserving some great  misfortune sometimes, but not boring. Only things can be boring, and actions, such as reading or watching. I find myself bored when doing that often. To bothersome, tying to keep track of story when it basically laughs at you for not chasing it. I’m too old to go on marathons like that.  You understand?’’ Boring meant quiet, and unassuming, and not showing up in middle of night to bother poor old woman with missing princesses and kidnapped children. Some people just wanted to enjoy retirement in peace, but humans wouldn’t allow such thing.

‘’Um, I’m not sure, I uh... _’’’Following story?  Is that what she means?_ everybody loved watching movies, Ivan knew that, just as everybody loved big parties and loud music in cramped bus. And well, not everybody loved reading, but Dimitri did and he said only idiots didn’t like reading. And Dimitri was rather smart (not that it was hard to be smart compared to Ivan) so he had to be right, no?

‘’Attention and paying focus are trouble for me. I’m not sure whether it is because I am so  grey and wrinkly or I am simply too flighty.  Can’t pay concentration for long. I get completely lost in moment and then my head buzzes from  trying to remember what happened before. Memory problems, you know.’’ Somewhere far away yet so near a man, witch and doll tried to stifle laughter as woman of ash and broken glass passed on crone’s  words. That was one of ways to deal with pain of living with, and working for hag that didn’t forget anything, even fact you spilled single poppy seed.

‘’I.. Oh my....Yeah, that is exactly how I feel! Think. Work, that is my brain works,  I mean, sorry...’’ _So dumb, why can’t you be smart as her?  And you got brain of old guy, you can’t be that troubled at your age..._ It felt  like moment of revelation, at least in part, when old woman put it in words.  He knew that feeling, had always known it but could never put it into words, just as so many other things. _Low vocabulary, problem with eloquent expression, issues with communication_ , school councilor said, and father frowned and Vasili laughed and Dimitri sighed and everybody rolled their eyes when he spoke...

‘’AAAAAAH! HELP, HELP, A CROCODILE!’’ The shouting was terrible, and Ivan’s hands itched with desire to throw something at screen. It was grainy, poor image that made colours seem flat and shine with weak, washed out light.  Actress on screen shouted and waved her hands maniacally, fueled by that hatred only main actress can have for obnoxious director of B-grade movie who was convinced he was making masterpiece. Her eyes held less life then those of awful plastic doll that was supposed to resemble animal, moving and twitching like puppet with half of strings torn.

‘’That is an alligator! Just look at snout!’’  He blurted out, voice slightly raised, but not loud enough to be rude. Perhaps it was just like, dumb character thing, lack of knowledge or panic or whatever, like when Dimitri talked about why people mistook wolves for dogs in movies, but still.  Was it so hard to know? After all,  even _he_ got it.

‘’ It is called Croc’s Revenge III.’’ Old woman said, and Ivan’s nerves tingled and buzzed, as he remembered he actually wasn’t alone. His shoulders tensed, and hands jerked bit back, as he twisted his head to look at old woman, movement graceless and clumsy, like that of bad. He started to open mouth, to say  apology, something, anything...

‘’Quite a dumb title. Not to mention that as you noticed, that isn’t a crocodile. I understand not everybody had experience of seeing one first hand, but you have that annoying internet now. They could have looked it up.’’ She shook her head. Mankind liked to bother them, brag about their technology. Mortals were stupid like that, as if such things haven’t been achieved before, as if they weren’t just a pale pathetic shadow of much greater heights, which too were weak and useless and nothing compared to hunger and knowledge and magic of an old crone.

‘’And to be portrayed so violently! Why, not one  of them  has reacted dangerously when not bothered, I can tell you. Met enough to know. Quite sweet when you look at them in eyes, as long as you don’t pet them.’’  She could, of course. There was nothing Baba Yaga couldn’t, were forbidden to do.  Baba Yaga smiled her iron grin and wolves pleaded. Baba Yaga opened  her giant maws and monsters froze. Baba Yaga moved a finger and dragons shook.

Crocodiles made passable soup in her younger sister’s opinion.  Her elder sister watched first alligator hatch and closed her eyes, already knowing how last would die. And this Baba Yaga thought both made very fine sounds as they begged for mercy.

‘’Whi-I am not sure which animals we are talking about.’’ Ivan said, biting his tongue, swallowing question before it could escape, and as group watching  (not spying, not ever, of course, they were allowed to, because if they weren’t they couldn’t and would have already roasted in oven) held breath, as light glinted on wide teeth, and none could say if smile was colder or warmer, only that it changed somehow.

‘’Oh, both. And pretty much every other beast that walks Earth.’’ Each, each of them, no matter how mundane or magical, no matter microbe or monster, sea or sky, no matter planet, each of them ancient crone has foreseen since before time began, and ahs heard and watched gods contemplate and propose ideas for new creatures, and she knew each soul of each being that passed from death unto life and back again.

‘’No way!’’ His eyes were wide, sparkling things, dawn’s sunlight over oak leaves and summer creek, jaws almost falling down to floor, face contorted in something excitable, naive and cheerful and amazed. It was how Vasili would have reacted if he met his favourite singers and football players, how Dimitri would have reacted if he came face to face with  best scientists and movie actors- except they wouldn’t, because they were good, smart, proper, exemplary, well-behaved sons man like Vladimir Nikolayevich deserved, so  proper and mature. They wouldn’t fawn and embarrass themselves  like stupid, manner-lacking children over something  so trivial, and they surely wouldn’t be amazed by an old witch just because she traveled  so much and ahs seen lot of something as trivial as animals. A witch with face like carnival freak, and skin like crumpled paper, wrapped in grey and brown and black rags of wool and chiffon, with voice like she hadn’t drunk anything in years.

A woman who seemed to be hundred, and didn’t look iota tired or weak, whose smile didn’t falter and whose eyes shone like lighting. Who stood with grace even as she was dressed in old, worthless clothes, with dignity even as she was slouching so much she seemed hunchbacked,  with power even as she couldn’t move much, all iron and poison and thorns. A woman who could build home and restaurant out of magic, who could put worlds between rooms, bend time and space to her design.

He wondered how amazing other two were.

‘’I can’t imagine how great that must have been! You must have had incredible life and amazing adventures when young... Oh! Ahhh um sorry for being  rude. And inconsiderate.’’  being loud like that, he knew firsthand how annoying that was.  And seeing grown man behave like child must have been pathetic and revolting to watch. Not to mention that she probably didn’t want to hear about him pestering her about her life and offering comments on it, as if he had right to judge it (but all would be good unless he asked questions). Which was when woman started chuckling, a sound that was both as deep as sea and as high as sky, his skin breaking out in shivers, feeling as if razor wire was being dragged across his throat, something sharp and dark curling around his heart.

‘’Oh boy, if this is your rude, then I beg you to be absolutely mannerless whenever you visit.  Neither I nor my sisters have been complimented so in ages.’’ It must sweet and warm, that pure amazement, a clean wonder and stunned appreciation, drawn from such simple source. They talked in hushed tones of Baba Yaga’s power and wisdom, bowed and scrapped when she passed, brought her their children and bloodied them when they thought it would win them favor, but it has been long long time since anybody looked up to her like that.

‘’And who is to say we stopped having adventures?’’ She whispered, and watched wonder light up his face ( would he ask question, now, would he, or listen to their dear Vasilisa, who once sat there same way, filled with curiosity and peace). Were it some other boy, other dumb human, he would have launched in sneers and tirades, because how could three unknown women, with no proper bank account to them afford so much moving? Travel was costly thing, either by air or land, for Forests stretched wide and in strange shapes and preventing anything with wheels or wings from passing through their space, and travel routes were narrow and complicated. Boats didn’t have such problems, but ah water held its own dangers, and sea had its own challenges. Most never left their country, but that didn’t matter to Old Bony Legs, whose pestle and mortar could take them wherever they wanted, and neither oceans or Forests could, nor would dare to think to deny them.

‘’I can’t even imagine what you must have seen.’’ If he could, Ivan would go around world and see every animal, every creature in world. Not just fantastic and beautiful and faraway beasts  they showed in documentaries of other countries, such as elephants and lions and crocodiles and camels, but all wolves and snakes and rabbits and flies of world. Not to own them, as some  colleagues of his father did ( _exotic_ pets, they bragged, bought through means that would have them spend years in cell if they weren’t so rich, animals removed from habitat they needed, wasting away in cold lands where earth and air didn’t agree with them, their diet completely thrown out of balance, presenting danger to them and humans just so somebody could brag about how rich they were), but just to see, in real life ( maybe, in some kinder world, even help them somehow with injury or illness... but no, that was stupid, useless thinking).

‘’Oh yes, I have seen some very rare and special things, especially in woodlands and at sea. But not many things can come close to good old sauerkraut.’’ She had seen things, all of them did, the three crones older then first draft of worlds. Things that were and will never be, things that didn’t happen and what will come after. She had seen worlds be born and die, she had seen gods come and go, and things that dwelled in primordial chaos before them, and none could match her age, and none knew what she did alone in confines of her impenetrable home, not even wind or shadow, save that included lots of complaining, blood and cabbages.

‘’Oh I read about it! Seems interesting, but I never had chance to make it.’’ He should have asked what it is, is it your favourite food, he should have asked something and then he would be theirs to punish, to toy with...but he decided to be smart and listen to this warning, so they could keep him around to help him, when time came.

‘’Really? I doubt you will have chance to make it at your other job, people don’t order it in restaurants. Fools, all of them, got no idea what is proper cuisine, the perfect meal.’’ Not that  she had opinions about food that extended beyond ‘’if I hate it more then usual, is sentient and screaming as it is pushed in oven then it is good’’ but  still all of them had to keep up charade, and complaining about foolishness of youth was something that came very easy to Baba Yaga.

‘’I hate one from the stores, they never get it right. But three of us are too old to cook it, and Vasilisa never got hang of stove  properly, and Zola is far too busy for such things though she offers...’’ Vasilisa was always bad at cooking, and  her knowledge of working stove consisted of indulging children when she was playing helpful handmaiden and shoving Baba Yaga to her fiery ‘’doom’’ then embroidering when crone returned home after giving children appropriate chase.  Cinderella could do wonders with well any manual and domestic  task, but even this Baba Yaga, who was all malice and torment  wouldn’t pull her so deeply into Story, make her slave once again.

‘’I could try making it for you. If it comes out passable someday. But I could cook other stuff if you’d like!’’  Somebody else would point out that if you can forge building out of magic and bend space and time to your will you can probably get your ass up to cook. But Ivan was of opinion that everybody knew best their own limits, and if experienced witch tells him she can’t do something then he should believe her.

‘’Such nice offer from you. I’m sure my younger sister will be completely charmed.’’ They wouldn’t let him prepare dead for roast and men for soup but still, offer counts. And they would have loved to do so, but he is hero and they won’t corrupt him like that. And they already know he won’t choose to do so, at least without being properly broken in first.

‘’ Go now to kitchen, to give plate of milk and bit of a bacon  to out kitten. It’s around here somewhere, little pussycat. You will find your way.’’ His eyes come alight at mention of cat, brain already spinning and wondering if it is only cat ( as if that is possible, because each cat is it’s own proud, strange creature) or something more.

Out of corner of eye, he catches figures in movie, puppets and actors both laying on earth and chatting, drinking beer. At sharp glance from old woman, and sharper yet smile do they jump and continue playing out their horrible story.

He doesn’t ask, but steps out in dark.

* * *

 

‘’What is happening? What is happening tell me please!’’  Grey wasn’t panicking. His voice had just taken on worrisome edge and he was close to shattering something, or injuring himself out of desperation. But it wasn’t panic, as he assured them several times.

‘’Please wait a little. Lady is blocking a connection.’’ Said Cinderella, kneeling to floor with purple glowing crystal pressed against her ear. Second Baba Yaga was mistress of pettiness and senseless cruelty, and she would interrupt otherwise flawless connection every second or so.

‘’You should just stop. He will panic either way.’’ Vasilisa didn’t mean that, of course. She would give up many things, her heart  among them, but chance to be first to hear about such delightful incidents wasn’t among them ( and she reminded herself this Ivan wasn’t Ivans she knew before, they were strangers, it was stupid to care so much).

‘’Asked nothing. He is now off to feed cat. Milk and bacon.’’ Which was very good. he was good to animals, cat was always easy on visitors, and it liked his previous incarnations. Only possible aid there, especially for milk and bacon. It was aware old crone liked it to much to get rid of it.

‘’Well good. He hasn’t messed up anything yet. Maybe we have chance.’’  Doll ignored glares of other two.  Ivan was Hero, Third Son, and Fool Protagonist, which generally meant lots of incredibly dumb mistakes that could have easily been avoided, not listening to advice and banging your head on desk if you were his donor. It was generally so with Heroes, because being one required accepting Story when it came knocking, which required incredible lack of common sense.

‘’It won’t be that  bad.  Pretty much nobody has problem with Great Grandmother’s rules.’’ Because those who did died. Well, Ivan died before, but not because of disrespect shown to crone. In this timeline.  Cinderella was used to living with hopeless state, so any chance of fortune was very good sign for her. She was also aware therapists could make fortune off her.

‘’It is an interesting thing. I haven’t seen something like that before.’’ Vasilisa pointed to crystal, battling away contemplations on what sort of circumstance would demand Ivan to make another violation of rules and whether her tip about questions consisted Donor’s Advice, instead watching utterly unfamiliar way magic flowed through crystal.

‘’An invention of mine. Adaptation of something I used some time before.  Old Grandmother isn’t really Elder God but it will suffice.’’ She would rather fight another then rouse crone’s irritation.

‘’Just when did you need that?’’ Grey asked, staring in utter horror.

‘’Oh, in a War. Do you want to go take something to eat? I can transcribe you rest?’’ Cinderella answered, fiddling with crystal, her knees bruising on floor.

‘’Which war?’’ Doll asked, stunned and irritated. That was problem with old things, whether humans, ghosts or...whatever Cinderella qualified as now. They said something and expected you to understand, because it was forever seared in their brain. And perhaps nobody but another veteran, or veteran’s children and family back home would understand them. And it made sense and was illogical at same time. Doll never understood why humans couldn’t be as simple and reasonable as toys, but had to make mess of everything.

‘’Oh, it was before your time.’’ Said Cinderella, to wind and stones and starlight.

Back in front of TV, Baba Yaga rolled her eyes and wondered why she didn’t just curse them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Baba Yaga is middle one, aspect of her in my story characterized by malice and desire to punish people. Ivan will meet other two too.  
> Can you believe I thought about if I could manage to write NaNo? Hahahaha. I hope next chapter will be faster though.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you liked it, please comment.


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